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sunnymoonxx · 3 months

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❝self destructive tendencies❞ | qimir x fem!reader

pairing: qimir x fem!reader

● this is a 3rd pov, if you want to read 2nd pov, here●

summary: A week has passed since the battle on Khofar and the startling reveal of her former friend. Qimir, the man behind the mask and the murderer of her comrades took her to a remote island, far away from the Republic's surveillance, after she sustained severe injuries. She's been keeping her distance from him, trying to ignore her hidden feelings. Yet, when his thoughts merge with hers, the vow she made to herself becomes almost impossible to keep.

warnings: english is not my first language, sexual tension, lots of sexual tension, corruption, sexual themes/dreams, E Y E C O N T A C T, qimir, mentions of blood and injuries

author's note: I could not be a jedi I'd turn into aquaman if he asked me to join him

now playing, love in the sky by the weeknd

*:..。♡*ﾟ¨ﾟﾟ·*:..。♡౨ৎ 🍓｡˚🍰♡ ˚..。♡*ﾟ¨ﾟﾟ·*:..。♡ ︎

The moon hung low over the horizon, casting an eerie glow on the waves that lapped against the shores of the ghostly island. Qimir’s silhouette stood out against the backdrop of the night sky, his presence a constant reminder of the blood and carnage he left on Khofar. As she lay on the rough sand, the pain from her injuries pulsed faintly, and she could not shake the mixture of fear and thirst that his proximity stirred within her. The island was a planet unknown to her, and as much as she tried to examine the surface, its location remained elusive. She supposed it might have been somewhere in the Outer Rim or beyond. Somewhere where the Republic would have a difficult way of finding her. World away from the Republic’s watchful eyes, and here, with only Qimir for company, she felt both vulnerable and strangely contented.

She decided to relax on the beach, further away from Qimir’s constant presence that melted her thoughts. However, luck wasn't on her side; minutes after settling in, he walked past her to his favorite bathing spot, smirk on his face as he acknowledged her presence. It was late at night, her legs and arms sore from the repetitive training she put herself through. The island offered few diversions. Waiting for Qimir’s next move or for Sol to find her wasn’t her idea of a perfect day. The injuries covering her body were difficult to ignore, and she refused to let Qimir get close enough to her to heal them. She told herself she would rather bleed out than feel his touch on her skin. Deep down, though, she knew the real reason for keeping him at bay.

So, she lay there, absentmindedly playing with a rock she found, irritated by his presence but too weary to consider moving again. She had to admit her fault; she had set up camp right in front of his favorite spot. Over the past week, she had seen him bare many times. First unbothered but lately it had gotten under her skin. She had been friends with Qimir for some time before discovering his true identity behind the mask and his responsibility for her friends' murders. Their deaths pained her, but the betrayal and realization of his deception cut deeper. After many years, she thought she found herself a friend outside the temple. One that she could share her interests and secrets with, without the fear of being judged by the Jedi. She told him about her fears and likes. Her doubts in the order and her wish to help people as much as she could. About her hate and desire. The Sith emotions. Now he’s using them to lure her in and trap her on the other side.

She wasn’t the most perceptive, but his intentions were clear. He knew her feelings, her likes, and dislikes; she had shared them with him when she believed he was her friend and a supplier. Even a blind person could see his thoughts, and her strength in the Force allowed her to delve into his mind, revealing more than she wished to know.

She couldn’t tear her eyes away as he slowly shed his clothes to enter the water, a routine he seemed to relish. Despite her experiences in battles and missions, witnessing the horrible conditions and lack of hygiene, even her comrades didn’t bathe as frequently as Qimir did before her. She considered herself fortunate; at least he smelled good, even if the scent of sandalwood mixed with citrus fruit drove her mad. She smelled it when she woke up, during meals and training, and before sleep. She felt him everywhere. She wasn’t sure for how much longer she could endure it.

She studied the muscles of his back as he swam slowly, admiring them from her vantage point. He was undeniably strong, scars marring his skin a testament to the pain he had endured. She observed how his dark hair moved with his motions, how he ran his long thick fingers through it while washing it gently. His biceps tensed as he splashed water around his neck, and she noticed the way he caressed his chest, attempting to cleanse away the day’s dirt.

It was only when she accidentally crushed the rock in half that she realized the intensity of her stare. Clearing her throat, she sat up and leaned against the mossy bank behind her, feeling shame wash over her. She was convinced his own dreams had started to corrupt her.

One of the curses of being a Jedi was the ability to read minds, and Qimir was no exception. She saw his thoughts vividly, filled with bright colors that sent adrenaline coursing through her veins. She wondered if he wanted her to delve into his mind, to make her believe he desired her, or if he simply didn’t care. She feared he could read her thoughts too, despite her lifelong ability to block out others with ease.

She lied to herself, convincing herself that she was immune to his ideas, desires, and magnetic charm. But every time he looked at her, towered over her, or she smelled him in the air, her knees buckled, her stomach tightened, and she fought against the need to press her legs together. She felt sick, and his mind brushing against hers didn’t help.

She felt it every time he drew near. He visualized her hands in his mind, how they caressed his scars and shoulders. She saw his hair falling down as he towered over her, gently pushing her against the cold floor of his cave. She felt his breath against her neck, his fingers pulling her hair, his skin pressed against hers. In his dreams, she never resisted. He was corrupting her in his dreams, and she never once objected in them. She was embarrassed he got her mannerisms right.

She was so lost in their shared thoughts that she didn’t notice Qimir making his way out of the water, his eyes fixated on her with dangerous intensity. He carefully leaned down to grab a towel, amusement playing on his lips. He didn’t want to wake her from her thoughts, whatever they may have been.

As he gently dried himself with the soft cloth, not taking his eyes off her, he tried to read her mind, even if he failed millions of times before. He never had difficulty reading someone; one look at them and he could see their whole past. But with her, he had no idea what she was thinking or planning, or what images played in her head. She was strong, stronger than the ones he had met before, and he admired that. He praised her strength in the Force and her ability to protect herself from her nemesis. Like him.

But he could read body language. He noticed how she tensed around him when he walked past her. How her chest started rising faster whenever he stared her down. Her goosebumps when they brushed against each other. How she pressed her legs together when he towered over her. And how she was now crushing the rock in her hand, gazing in his direction.

“You can always join me, you know that.” He breathed out, letting the cloth fall to the ground, replacing it with his long blouse. She almost wanted to take the top from him just so she could continue her view, but when she finally recollected her thoughts, she wanted to slap herself. “It would help with your wounds when you don’t let me heal them.” He uttered, dressing himself, not breaking eye contact with her. He liked her stare. He liked how she fought with her emotions and how they reflected in her eyes. It pleased him.

“I’m okay,” she faked a smile, swallowing the ridiculous amount of saliva in her mouth. She forced herself to look somewhere other than his strong forearms or how he dragged the pants up his muscular legs. She found a cute shell, admiring it from afar.

She didn’t catch the grin on his face as her face turned pink and she clenched her fists. He was amused with her reactions, but her ripped bandage and the blood revealing itself underneath caught his full attention. His face froze, along with his movements while buttoning up his shirt. He would never touch her unless she wanted him to, but her leg was nowhere near being healed and with the lack of medical supplies on this island, she’d lose it long before she’d be able to leave the island.

“Let me help you.” It wasn’t a question, more of a subtle order. She didn’t miss it. A week ago, on Khofar, Qimir had stopped himself before fatally hurting her, but he still landed a strike on her leg that had trouble healing. She was stubborn enough to push him away when he offered his help, and now she started to slowly regret it.

“I don’t need anything from you,” she hissed at him, catching a glimpse of his unbuttoned blouse.

“You’re a powerful Jedi, and I don’t doubt you’d be still as fierce as you are now without your leg,” he murmured, making his way towards her, leaving his bag and shoes near the water. “If you want to risk it.” She watched him tilt his head as he slowly approached her. She could only see the images in his mind, his plans and ideas. But underneath it all, he didn’t mean it in a bad way. He wanted to help her. In his own way. He was her friend; he knew her weaknesses and strengths. He knew what she wanted, and he was willing to give it to her. But she couldn’t erase the lying and murder of her friends. She wanted her friend back. Maybe something else this time, but her trust in him had faded. Now it was just Qimir, confusing her thoughts and making her rethink her morals. She felt as disgusted with him as she felt with herself. But she understood him. Or at least tried to.

So, she didn’t oppose, letting him kneel in front of her, his hands carefully reaching out to her ripped bandage above her knee. He was so close she could smell him again. His hair fell into his face, covering his eyes that were focusing only on her wound. His fingers worked fast but tenderly as he lifted her thigh to unwrap the bandage. She swallowed hard, feeling his veiny hand below her leg. She was scared he could feel her burning skin, hoping he would mistake it as a result of the injury.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you on Khofar,” she heard him whisper, gripping the sand below her as he threw away the bandage, the cold air kissing her open wound. She almost heard pity in his voice. She was certain she imagined it.

She begged herself to look away, but her eyes betrayed her as they glared down at his hand that was almost as big as her thigh. He covered the wound, not touching it fully, concentrating on restoring her cells.

She was fascinated by how quickly the wound closed up, leaving only a small scar across her thigh. She had wanted to learn how to force heal ever since she lost her friend to a fatal injury as a kid, but the Jedi never taught her. No matter how hard she pleaded. Whenever she asked, they gave the same answer: only dark side users possess this power. She always felt it was ridiculous.

“How do you do it?” she managed to ask, ignoring Qimir’s confused stare as he picked up his head and drew his hand away from her. But he didn’t move position and kept kneeling between her feet. “How do you force heal?” she felt embarrassed asking, but he was one of her only chances to learn.

A soft smile crept to his lips as he moved his eyes from her face to her hands. She suddenly became aware of her vulnerable position.

“In order to heal someone,” he started, softness in his voice, no signs of mockery. “You need to focus on your own energy, imagine it and visualize it. Imagine its color, like you do with the Force.” He continued, his hands moving in motion with his words.

She could feel the warmth radiating off him as he sat centimeters away, his wet hair framing his sharp features. His eyes were dark, only the light of the moon reflecting in them. His lips were full, stretched as he shared his knowledge with her. She didn’t move a muscle and returned his stare. It was only the two of them.

“The Jedi teach only one way. Physical way. Taking your physical energy and giving it to someone who needs it,” he whispered, leaning his head to the side, giving her a view of his sharp jaw. His neck was thick, his collarbones defined. “But there is another way.” He stopped to look at her, examining her expression. She was listening intently, breathing fast, and her eyes bored so deeply into him he was certain she could read everything he was thinking. He let her.

“Below the surface of consciousness are powerful emotions. Anger. Fear. Loss.” He started listing, his eyes twitching between her eyes and her lips. “Desire.”

Her leg muscles twitched, her core burning up. She wanted to bury herself.

“Only Sith feel those emotions,” she whispered back, denying herself. She saw a smile tugging on the corner of his mouth before he lowered his gaze.

“You can draw energy from them, direct them in any way you want,” he purred, looking back at her, letting her feel his emotions. “However, whenever you want.” He lowered his voice as he stretched the last words, reading her face.

He knew she read his mind. He knew she saw the images that kept him awake and his wishes. He had had them since he met her months ago, and when he sensed her attraction toward him, they only intensified. He wanted her and was simply waiting for her to admit the same to herself, no matter how long it would take.

#star wars #qimir the acolyte #qimir #osha x qimir #star wars qimir #qimir smut #qimir x reader #qimir fic #acolyte ep6 #the acolyte #star wars the acolyte #starwars fic #star wars smut #starwars

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literaila · 8 months

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three things

gojo satoru x fem!reader

summary: a fun trip to the grocery store (how do you raise children?)

warnings: a bit of anxiety, a bit too much of gojo

last part | next part

year one.

"no, satoru."

how many times have you said that today?

how many times has satoru pouted--like he's doing right now--and put back whatever he'd plucked off the shelf, grumbling something about how you hated him or you weren't his mom or how he was the one buying everything?

oh, too many times to count. you stopped after five.

megumi rolls his eyes with you, already familiar with this routine, looking at everything in the cart again with the same analytical eye he's had since you all walked into the store. you're pretty sure he's counting the total cost.

it might be cute--the way his frown deepens just a little bit after each new item is added--if it didn't worry you completely.

because it's the first time you've taken the two of them to the store, and the first time you're trying to recall everything their eyes trail over, the things they want but neither of them will say.

you're trying to remember yourself as a kid--if you begged your parents for anything you could possibly want, or if you stood there and stared longingly. but your childhood has always been a dull memory you keep hidden in the attic of your mind.

so you're not sure what to expect.

because neither of them has asked for much, since the first night. tsumiki requested a notebook she could draw in, and megumi asked if you could get gojo to stop talking to him.

the first which you did immediately, even letting gojo get her some expensive pencils to draw with, the second which you... tried.

it hasn't been easy, the past few days. settling two kids into a dysfunctional house didn't exactly fit into your schedule for the week.

"why not?" satoru demands, walking right along slide you, pushing the cart because you'd forced him to. "we need dessert."

"there are seven different types of dessert already in there. i'm hiding at least three of those, by the way."

"i'll find them," satoru grins mischievously, but waves a hand. "we've got two extra people in the house now. i'm not just shopping for me. do you want them to starve?"

you roll your eyes, again. then pull on his hair, which he squeaks at. "you're only shopping for you. i've seen your pantries, you know. and i lived with you for three years. we all saw your grocery lists."

satoru is about to say something, but tsumiki giggles. maybe at the stupid way his face looks.

the way he's almost smiling, even in denial. how his eyes show from just behind his glasses, his brows moving like a separate entity on his face.

you haven't really talked to him, the past couple of days. nothing beyond a question about megumi's technique, or where the two of them went to school.

how long will it take before you finally ask him--

you look over to tsumiki, shaking your head at satoru and smiling back.

"megumi doesn't like sweets much," she adds to you, easily.

you add it to the mental list of things you know about them.

you look at the little boy, and he nods, looking straight ahead. his shoes catch on the ground every couple of steps like they don't fit right.

satoru gasps like this is an outrage. because not drinking straight sugar is offensive to him.

"what?" he asks, stopping all three of you so he can grab megumi by the shoulders. "were you cursed?" he inspects the boy carefully, peering over the glasses on his face.

megumi seems to sink back with each glance of his eyes, his face turning red.

"cursed to deal with you, maybe," you tell him, pushing him away from megumi. the boy fixes his hair--which had been pushed over his eyes--and glares at satoru.

"he doesn't like sweets?" the man repeats, mouth open, glancing at all three of you like he's not sure that any of you are sane.

"you say that as if you don't eat enough for all four of us."

"i need the calories," satoru whines, fluttering his eyelashes at you. you ignore him--and the funny way you feel about the gesture.

you look at both of the kids, observing the two of you closely, and give them a look. a look as in, he's crazy.

megumi swallows. "i like dango."

"great!" you nudge satoru to keep walking. "we'll get some."

"that's it?" satoru prods. "what about--"

you pinch his hip and shake your head, glaring at him when he pouts at you again.

you step on his heels as you walk through the aisles, still watching the kids with sharp eyes, trying to figure out anything they might want.

tsumiki murmurs something to megumi every once and a while, but beyond that, they only walk alongside you and satoru, stepping out of the way of any other adults that pass by.

honestly, you might as well have taken them to the park. they don't even glance at any of the shelves--except when satoru pushes one of them away to grab something. at least at the park, they'd be getting some fresh air.

after you sigh in--what? frustration? disappointment?--for the fourth time, satoru gives you a look, raising his brows. you shake your head.

he nudges you with his shoulder but doesn't say anything. whistling while he sneaks more sugar into the cart.

after the fifteenth minute of this, megumi falls in stride beside you and you look down at him. his eyes evade yours, focusing on the necklace you're wearing instead.

"um, i have to use the restroom," he says to you, soft and embarrassed.

"okay," you place a hand on his back, gently turning him around, "i think it's just over here," you say, listening as satoru follows along idly.

"me too," tsumiki says, trailing on your other side.

the store is almost completely empty, so you tell the two of them that you'll wait right outside the door, and lean against the wall, watching the both of them disappear.

satoru is already looking at you.

"what?" you groan, glaring at the doors.

"what what?"

you sigh. his voice is annoying. "why are you looking at me?"

satoru is too close for comfort, his arm brushing against yours--uncomfortably of course because he is the worst--without a care in the world. "what's up?"

"what do you mean?"

"why are you acting weird?"

"i'm not acting weird," you look at him, frowning.

he's wiping his glasses on his shirt--like he can actually see out of them--and looking at you quizzically. "oh, so you staring at tsumiki and megumi like they're a science experiment isn't weird?"

you ignore him and his stupid blue eyes.

"if i was doing that you'd push me down a flight of stairs, but okay..."

you sigh again, rolling your eyes. and then again. and then you relent because satoru's silence will inevitably break you. "they haven't asked for anything," you say, almost whining to him. "you told them they could pick out whatever they want."

satoru shrugs. "so they don't want anything."

"everyone wants something, satoru. especially kids."

"everyone?"

"yes. i'd expect you to know better than anyone," he laughs but you frown. "it's a human trait."

he smirks, leaning down towards you. "what do you want, then?"

you scoff, flicking his forehead. "i want them to feel comfortable. and i want you to stop bugging megumi."

"but he makes it so easy," satoru says, pretending to be innocent.

"you're the adult, here," you say, even though you don't really believe it--nor should you. "act like it."

"all the kid does is scowl," satoru complains. "i'm just trying to make him comfortable."

"by invading his space?"

"you stare from far away, i stare from up close."

"you antagonize."

satoru grins, crossing his arms, very pleased with himself. he's silent again.

the past year has almost made you forget that satoru knows you like this. he's always known how to keep you talking, how to read your face and your hesitant glances.

it's not like time could make him forget. it's not like you've forgotten anything about him.

"you aren't worried?" you ask, after a second.

"about the kids?"

"yes," you say, obviously, "that we're already messing something up."

he gives you a dubious look. "it's been four days."

and he's right. you can't expect to understand either one of them after seventy-two hours of merely knowing about their existence. but you don't know how to treat kids like these, because any mistake you make--anything you say--will inevitably come back to haunt you.

"it's--" you shake your head. satoru doesn't worry about anything, so you don't even know why you're bringing it up. "it's like when you play with someone else's kid and feel like you're breaking some unspoken rule. except this time we're the ones making the rules. there's no one to tell us if we mess up."

"i think megumi would tell us," satoru answers, almost sarcastically.

"he's the kid, idiot," you groan. "he doesn't know."

"rude," satoru is still grinning. "what could you have messed up, at this point? all you've been doing is asking them questions. that's pretty straightforward."

"maybe it's too much, too fast."

satoru snorts, shaking his head at you. "grocery shopping?"

"everything."

satoru raises a brow at you, watching as you deflate. you feel like each move you make takes a little more air out of you, and who's to say when you'll finally run out?

how many mistakes do you have to make to finally get it right?

and you know--and you know that he knows--that it's not just about them, but about you. is this too fast? is this too much?

satoru rests a hand on your head. "you're too in your head about this."

"well, i have to do it for the both of us."

he ignores that. "if they need something, they'll ask," the words are soft, genuine. he's completely sure like he always is. "you made it clear that we're just here to help. it's been four days."

you sigh, nodding reluctantly.

"we'll figure it out," he says, simply. "you don't need to worry about anything. i mean, i'm here, so..."

you push his hand away, glaring. "megumi doesn't even talk to you."

"hey, yes he does."

"to call you a freak, maybe. or tell you to shut up."

"don't be jealous of my relationship with megumi. we're bonding."

you roll your eyes but find a laugh making its way out of you.

he's always been good at this, too. making everything seem easy.

when tsumiki comes out of the bathroom door, she smiles at the sight of the two of you still there--both talking animatedly, with similar glares in your eyes. she settles in beside satoru, copying him as she leans against the wall.

"you think i'm great, don't you tsumiki?" satoru asks her, goading.

she nods immediately.

you snort and look away while tsumiki giggles when satoru leans down to smack a kiss on her cheek.

something inside of you warms, just briefly.

and then megumi comes out, rubbing his hands together. unlike tsumiki, he glares at satoru and chooses to stand beside you.

"okay," satoru clasps his hands together. "are you both ready to go?"

"um," you turn to him. "satoru we haven't--"

megumi nods immediately, looking a bit brighter at the prospect, and tsumiki furrows her brows, questioning.

"great! both of you pick out three things that you want and then we'll leave."

megumi glowers.

"three things?" you clear your throat. "they need more--"

"three things," satoru repeats, looking right at megumi while he says it. some words pass non-verbally between the two of them. you might have to tell satoru not to talk to megumi about anything without you. "we'll get everything else we need."

tsumiki runs alongside megumi and grabs his arm, which he allows, though you watch his eyes roll.

"go on," satoru shoos them away, smiling all proudly. when they're gone, he turns to you again. "there. now you don't have to worry about picking something they like."

and he reaches his hand to grab yours, as a simple habit.

satoru has never tip-toed around the line of physical contact. even with shoko, even when she would push him off.

something passes between the two of you. holding his hand is familiar; egged on by four years of standing alongside him.

you try not to flinch away from the contact.

and, sure, satoru probably just lost both of them in the store, and you don't actually have everything else you need, or know what those things are, but he's smiling at you.

he's trying to be reassuring.

so you smile back and let him hold your hand.

"we'll figure it out," he whispers to you, and you push the cart this time while the two of you try to find the children he just lost.

later that night--after forcing satoru to put away the groceries with the rest of you--megumi lets you sneak into his room with a (third) bag of candy that satoru grabbed last second, acting like you wouldn't notice.

"where's the best hiding spot for this?" you ask him, looking around.

it's pretty doubtful that satoru would risk going into megumi's room just to look for it. and, you're sure, that megumi probably wouldn't let satoru open the door, nonetheless go through his things.

the boy points at his dresser and moves some clothes so you can hide it at the bottom of one of the drawers. he doesn't even question your motivations.

as you back out of the room again, you make him promise not to tell, and, for a single second, megumi smiles back at you, crossing his heart.

next part

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miaoua3 · 2 months

Text

As Sweet As You

Pairing: scoups x f!reader

Genre: oneshot, fluff, comedy

Description: seungcheol takes his daily coffee intake very seriously. so when the company coffee shop temporarily closes, he faces a very big problem. or maybe, several bigger problems.

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so, here’s the thing. seungcheol knows how pathetic he must look like. jeonghan made sure to let him know every day since he has learned about this situation, always followed up by that stupid smirk of his.

a few weeks ago, their company cafe announced that it will undergo a big renovation due to bad conditions of the pipes, which meant seungcheol needed to find a new place to buy his daily coffee intake or else he probably wouldve killed somebody in cold blood.

hey, what can he say, he’s a little grumpy in the morning, thats why he always makes sure to have his morning coffee, otherwise he will make his bad mood everybody else’s problem.

on the day he walked down his usual route to the coffee shop and saw a paper with the info about the shop being temporarily closed glued to the glass window, he was sure he was going to punch somebody that day.

thinking about what he should do since going to jail wasn’t really his top choice of activities to do on that day, he decided to walk down the block to see if there’s another coffee shop.

as he was walking, he came across an alley. he could loosely remember walking past it many times, but he has never walked in the alley itself. for some reason, seungcheol felt like something inside of it was calling his name, like it was trying to show him something.

seungcheol, never the one to ignore his instincts, walked down the alley.

and right there, on the left side of the alley, stood a little cozy looking coffee shop, a coffee shop that would forever change his life.

with almost to no thinking, seungcheol walked in.

the inside of the shop looked like something straight out of a movie. fairy lights strung along the edge of the counter, as well as on one of the walls. dark furniture was decorated with dark green accents like pillows and vases on top of the tables. on the left side, the whole wall was just a big shelf filled with books.

seungcheol felt both the moody and mysterious side of this shop, as well as its cozy and comforting side.

as he was looking around, he noticed that there wasn’t anyone around. unsure if he maybe entered during its closed hours, he decided to call out for somebody. with an unsure voice, he uttered “um hello?”

surprisingly, beneath the counter came a sweet voice, “just a moment!”

and really, after a moment, somebody popped out beneath it.

and seungcheol felt his heart come to a stop for a brief moment.

there, behind the counter, appeared what must’ve been an angel.

and then you smiled gently at him.

and the rest was history.

well, not really.

ever since that day, seungcheol has been going to your shop to buy his morning coffee, in hopes that maybe that day your conversation would go beyond him saying his order and wishing you a good day.

but seungcheol must be 13 years old mentally, because he simply can’t talk to you beyond those two topics without blushing like a teenage boy.

never has he ever felt this stupid, it literally made him want to bang his head against the wall in hopes that the force of the banging will maybe split his single remaining braincell into two braincell.

every day, while he was getting ready for work, he would stand in front of his mirror and would repeat the same words like a mantra.

“today is the day. today you will talk to her. today you will pick up your balls from the floor and ask her if she would like to grab a dinner sometimes. today is the day.”

and every day he still wouldn’t do it, no matter how much he would repeat those words.

it has become his routine.

a routine that has been kind of broken today.

because today jeonghan wanted to come with him.

and seungcheol didn’t like that one bit. but trying to stop jeonghan from doing something he dead set his mind on is right behind the word “impossible”.

as they were walking, seungcheol tried to warn his best friend.

“i swear to god jeonghan, do not even thinking about trying something”, seungcheol repeated for the nth time since they’ve met in front of their company.

jeonghan, ever the good friend, rolled his eyes. “relax, i just want to see who got your panties in a twist so much. plus, i havent had a good coffee since our shop closed.”

jeonghan’s words did nothing to calm down seungcheol.

if he knew his best friend even a little bit, he was 101% sure that he was going to do something.

and seungcheol was dreading it.

soon, they walked into the alley and a few second later, into the coffee shop.

you were stood on a ladder on the left side, cleaning the book shelf when they walked in. upon hearing the door open, you turned your head and smiled.

cheol swore he felt his heart fall down to his feet and skyrocket out of his body all in the same second you smiled. and the worst thing-he felt his cheeks get warmer, which only meant one thing, that he was blushing.

“ah i see you brought a friend with you today.” you said as you stepped down the ladder, scanning jeonghan from head to toe.

“u-um well y-yes, or, well, uh, he, uh, invited himself”, seungcheol stuttered out like an idiot and immediately regretted ever waking up today.

you chuckled as you rounded up the counter and got behind, ready to serve your costumers.

jeonghan turned his head in a way you couldn’t see his expression, but cheol certainly did, although he wished he didn’t, because nothing was quite as annoying as seeing that smirk of his.

“wow, it really is as pretty as you said it was”, he says with a smirk, obviously not talking about the shop itself, and cheol feels like not even your tasty coffee will stop him from murdering his best friend.

you chuckle lightly, a hint of blush on your cheeks, and cheol feels his heart squeeze so much that he unconsciously places his hand on top of his chest.

“thank you. now, what may i get you two?”, you say.

the two men place in their orders, jeonghan going first.

as his drink was being finished, jeonghan turned towards cheol. “i’ll wait for you outside.”, he more-so informs him.

cheol, with furrowed eyebrows, just nods at his friend.

“so, here’s your incredibly sweet drink that you for some reason like.”, you joke as you push a cup towards jeonghan.

“thank you.”, he smiles kindly at you, taking his coffee, turning around to exit the shop.

but of course, it wouldn’t be jeonghan if he kept his mouth shut for once in his life.

in the last second, he turned around and asked you “oh has this idiot asked you out already? no? oh well.”, he smiled innocently as he exited the shop this time for real.

cheol felt both the blood from his face drain and the temperature of his cheeks jump exponentially high.

for a second, you both stay silent.

and then he starts word vomiting.

“w-well, what he meant by- by that is that- see, uh, you’re obviously very p-pretty and uh, well, its presumptuous of me to think that you are single but uh, truth be told, you got my attention on the very first day i came in here so uh, i was just- i mean you can feel free to say no but, uh, i-id really like to t-take you out to a dinner, that is if you’re single of course, if not then im really sorry-“

cheol was a little too busy to notice you leaning on the counter, your chin resting on your hand, gentle smile grazing your features.

to stop his adorable rambling, you put his coffee in front of him, still resting on the counter.

and it seems to do the trick, because he stops talking all together and just looks at the coffee.

“on the house.” , you inform him.

just as he was starting to feel the disappointment seep into his bones, you speak up again.

“or well, not really. i’d really like that dinner in return for this free coffee.”, you smile blush-fully.

and so does he.

usually, he’d think of this as the end of the story, but in this case, it was just the beginning.

#svt #svt x reader #seventeen #scoups x reader #scoups #scoups seventeen #choi seungcheol #fypシ #fypage #tumblr fyp #oneshot #fluff

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sook9i · 2 months

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— NAKED IN MANHATTAN

⋆｡°✩ After a drunk conversation leads you to question your feelings for your bandmate and friend, Hueningkai, maybe a night together in Manhattan is just what you need to clear the air.

. . . GENRE ! Hueningkai x reader | smut | fluff | friends to lovers

. . . CONTAINS ! virgin!kai, virgin!reader, 6th member!reader, afab!reader, talks of virginity, mentions of alcohol and alcohol consumption, swearing, loss of virginity, unrealistic first time? (not that i would know), no established dynamics, fingering, protected sex 🙏, some aftercare, a little too much foreplay, consent checks, kinda just porn with plot, the other members tease them about their virginity (don’t do that)

. . . WORD COUNT ! 4660

. . . NOTES ! i’ve been writing this for,,,literally ever and i’m so glad it’s finally done !! this is inspired by naked in manhattan by chappell roan however considering that it’s a sapphic love song i’m still kinda unsure if i’m going to keep the title of it for this fic. if anyone has any opinions let me know!! anyways i hope you enjoy!!

. . . ADMIN ! written by callie 😼

Bright lights twinkle across the floor like stars. You can’t see the real stars up in the sky, but you make do with the high-rises lighting up the horizon. Cars beep and blare their horns stories below you. This sweet symphony fills the cold, empty hotel room like a lullaby. However, it isn’t really empty. You’re there, staring out across the Manhattan skyline. Kai’s there, just there behind a closed door in the bathroom. Bare only for the comforting hot water of the shower he was in. He’s there, racing through your thoughts like always. Around and around; an ever-looping track of vice. This boy, your friend, your bandmate, driving you crazy just by standing beyond a wall.

This isn’t exactly how you imagined spending a night in New York City. The rest of the boys took full advantage of the free night. Taehyun had wanted to explore, last you heard he was in Time Square. Beomgyu and Yeonjun had gone out to get some dinner and god only knows where they ended up, now five hours later.

Soobin, on the other hand, was the reason you ended up in this position. Having approached you after your radio show taping and apologetically begging you to let him have the single hotel room for the night. And how could you say no? You cared for your members, and your leader especially seemed like he could use a night with just himself. He was probably spread-eagle on the hotel bed, 5-steps deep into his skincare routine right now, and watching whatever show he’s been raving about for the past week; probably having the time of his life. However, when you agreed to give up your room, you failed to think about the implications. You didn’t consider that you’d now be rooming with whoever Soobin had left behind. You didn’t even think about how he usually roomed with Hueningkai. Not a single thought passed through your head, except sweet old sympathy for your leader. Now, you were considering disavowing kindness for the rest of your life because of where that nice gesture landed you.

You heard the water shut off in the bathroom like the final clock strike right before midnight. Face embarrassingly hot, you keep your back to the door as it opens. New light slants across the floor, fluorescent and harsh. It mingles with the soft rush of humidity into the room and claws at your pajamas. Begging you to turn, to look, to face the perpetual inhabitant of your dreams. You tried to ignore the way your heart sped up simply hearing him shuffle around behind you. Still, your blood ran hotter, building up in your cheeks and neck.

You’ve had your fair share of innocent crushes over time, including the one you’ve harbored for Huening over the past 4 years. However, none ever left you feeling like this. This disoriented, this flustered, this desperate despite actively trying to dismantle your feelings for months now. He’d manage to send you tumbling back down, head over heels, in one quick night. Just the thought of his voice, the way the words came to him so easily, kept you spiraling.

The night’s high spirits had long settled down. Celebrating the start of your world tour with drinks and food had kept the mood quite energetic. Now, spread out on the dorm floor, nursing a half-empty soju bottle, you find yourself prattling off to silence.

“Sooo…what are you guys most excited for in America?”

Yeonjun snorts from the couch above you, “You sound like every American interview we do.”

“Okay, well…you can be like 100% completely honest with me.”

“I wanna try some cool food and drinks or something.” Beomgyu jumps in, “Like the themed ones from specialty bars that people always post.”

The oldest hums in agreement, “It would be pretty nice to go out one night.”

“We’re in New York for a few days, I’m pretty sure we have an open night there.” Soobin pipes in, curled up in the couch corner.

“Maybe I’ll go visit the Lego store.”

A sudden chorus of laughter erupts at your words. Struggling to sit up, you frown at all the amused faces now in view.

“What’s so funny, assholes?”

“Y/nnie, you should get out more.” The words coming from Beomgyu were almost hypocritical.

“You’re one to talk! And, yeah, that’s why I’d go shopping.”

“We mean, like, get out and meet people. A different country is a great place for that, especially for us.” Taehyun sits in an armchair taking a slow sip from his can, “Go out, have a fun night, and just make sure they sign an NDA afterwards.”

Another round of laughter strikes up and it dawns on you what they’re actually talking about. Your face feels hot and a pout stretches on your lips.

“You guys all suck! I told you, it’ll happen when it happens.” You cross your arms, almost whining like a child, “Why don’t you ever tease Huening about this? I’m not the only virgin in the group!”

Yeonjun snorts, “Damn, way to throw Kai under the bus.”

“Wait, no,” You frantically turn your head around to his seat behind you. “Huening, I didn’t mean-”

He breaks a small smile, “It’s okay, Y/n, I get what you meant.”

“We’re, like, virginity pals.” You stupidly bump your shoulder into his which elicits a very awkward laugh.

“Let’s talk about something else.”

Beomgyu is quick to the draw, immediately beginning to ramble on about his latest meet-up with Jeongin. You don’t get a chance to catch much of it as lips brush along your ear.

“You know, if you ever want to fix that, you can just ask me.” His voice is low and even, his breath leaves goosebumps along your neck. The words swim up and around your head, wiping away some of the haze; snapping you into a brief sense of clarity to process what he just said. You feel your heart almost sputter to a stop. Unable to choke out a response, you turn to look at him only to find cold air. Huening is up and away in the kitchen getting another drink, leaving you alone and flustered. Caught in his words’ web like a helpless fly.

They’ve been plaguing you since their utterance 5 days ago. Orbiting your brain like an ever-present moon. Driving you so far up the proverbial wall that, once you come back down, you will surely die on impact. You’ve never felt this confused, wondering if he meant what he said, if he even remembered it. Perhaps you were driving yourself insane over something inconsequential to him. How were you going to survive this night?

“You wanna watch a movie?”

So easily, he has you trapped. You have to face him, face this, and act completely normal. Act like your thoughts haven’t been full of him; the things you’d let him do to you and the things you’d do to him in return. Act like the way water drips from the edges of his hair, tracing his bare collar, isn’t driving you mad. Wet spots decorate the thin, white shirt stretched across his shoulders. It sticks to the vaguely visible skin trailing down his torso. A pair of sweatpants hang dangerously low off his hips, you struggle to bring your eyes away back up to his face. There his face is soft, head tilted and eyes crinkled, expecting an answer. You want to shrivel beneath his sweet gaze.

“I-um, yeah, sure. W-what movie?”

“Oh, I don’t really know. I was just going to see what’s streaming, maybe order some room service.” He drops a laptop onto his bed. Crawling atop the sheets, he flips it open and looks back at you. Waiting, expectant. His hand softly pats the duvet beside him and you have nowhere to run.

The sheets are standard fare for a hotel and the mattress is stiff as you sit. You’re practically almost hanging off the edge trying to keep a safe distance from Kai. If your skin so much as brushed his, you’d be broken. You weren’t willing to risk bumping knees. If he thinks it odd, he doesn’t say anything. Looking at the screen, he’s now scrolling through a bunch of movie options. Title after title flys by. Two of his fingers push along the mouse pad. The muscles of his hand twitch with every movement; veins shifting, knuckle tucking in and out. From fingertip to wrist his hands are huge, probably enough to completely cover your face. His fingers especially, are very long, so thin-cut and delicate. It can only make you wonder just how deep they could reach. If he knew how to really use them.

You feel your brain melting into a cesspool of depravity the longer you’re around him. Squeezing your eyes tight, the thoughts barely dissipate. Although, you’re granted a small peace as he picks your mind with something else.

“How about Spider-man?”

“Hm?” Peeking back at the screen, his cursor had landed on a Spider-Verse movie. Although, you didn’t really know which one. Your head feels so cotton-stuffed, you simply nod without a thought. So he clicks on the card to play. Opening credits roll in and you fall further into the static. This movie should’ve been the perfect distraction, something exciting and enjoyable. However, the soft heat of the boy curled beside you permeates your skin like a fever. It’s no use, you can’t fight the speed of your heart. The blood rush through your ears takes up everything in the room. Eyes, laser focused to the laptop screen, yet mind somewhere far away. So far you don’t notice the sound of the movie stopping suddenly.

“Y/n?”

Kai’s knee softly bumps yours as he faces you. It’s like a lightning strike right to the chest. Heartbeat rocketing, your words get jumbled. “Wha-um-what?”

“I…Is something wrong? Did I do something?” He avoids eye contact, hands twisting up.

“N-no, no-um, Huening…what’s up?”

“I just…I feel like you’ve kinda been avoiding me? His eyes slowly drag up to your face. “Like, you won’t even look at me.”

All you can hear is the blood rushing over your chest and cheeks, it’s all you can see as well. Kai’s eyebrows are knit together in an expression that should not be nearly as hot as your overdriven brain thinks it is. The words jumble up in your throat, a 4-year confession and a week-long confessional-in-the-making. Your brain goes blank. Everything seems to spill out.

“I-I’m not…upset. I’m-Kai-it’s um, just…do…do you remember that conversation we had…like the night of the first show?” Your stomach twists, ready to eat itself up in embarrassment.

“Um, maybe…” His eyes flit around as if trying to grasp the memory from the air. Brows draw in tighter before he stills. A chill settles between you two. His face explodes in Saharan heat. “Oh god.”

The realization fills up the room with its horrible heated mortification. Your head hangs, guilt pooling in your lap.

“Oh-oh god, Y/n, I’m so sorry! I’m so so sorry! I should’ve never said that, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, I’m so sorry-”

“No-no, you-you didn’t. I just-” You bury your head in your hands. Your cheeks burn the skin like a radiator, your heart feels like a supernova. The room is caving in on you. This wall you’d built up, a protective shell around your fragile heart, crumbled. The words taste sour on your tongue. “Did…did you mean it…what you said?”

Silence sinks into your bones, shriveling under the weight of your humiliation. You can’t bring yourself to look at Huening. You want to run, hide, jump off the roof, but you're stuck to the mattress; to the darkness of your eyes; to his sharp intakes of air.

“I did.” An angry red flush covers his face and a pillow now covers his lap. His voice and eye contact remain steady, nonetheless.

The room is too small, too hot. You need to crawl out of your skin and cool off, but the words just keep coming.

“S-so…if I wanted to-um-take you up on your offer…”

Your hands fist the sheets fitfully, you can’t meet his eyes beneath the weight of your shame. This is all you have thought about for the past week, and, suddenly living in your fantasy, you feel like a creep.

The touch of soft fingertips brushing over your jaw jolts to your already frayed nerves. He turns your gaze up to his. Something deep and unfamiliar has settled in his eyes; a darkness that bores right down into that depraved nest in your heart.

Somehow, his voice keeps calm, “Can I kiss you?”

“Please-“ You can't finish the word before you’re silenced. Smooth, honey plush lips blanket yours, like something out of a daydream. The first sensation to hit is his taste: mint toothpaste and vanilla chapstick; you have to fight the urge to bite at his lip for more. Your crossed-knees touch, bodies leaning forward to meet in the middle. Your noses knock and bump awkwardly before you settle into a rhythm. He borders an intense line between inexperienced eagerness and hesitant care. Keeping your hands firm at your sides, unsure how to move, he runs his fingers up and over your arms, coaxing them to cradle the nape of his neck. In turn, he does the same.

He unravels you. The rigid rod holding back your shoulders dissipates; fingers curl into the soft, still damp hair at the base of his neck. A sigh pulls at your lips as you lose yourself to this building heat. Slowly, inhibition slips away. You find yourself moving with an unprecedented fervor. Kai leans further into you, tilting your head back to his will, nails scratching deftly at your scalp. A conflicting pain trembles over your skin, swirling with an untapped pleasure until the two are indistinguishable. He pulls a jolting gasp from your chest. The sound which follows, you can only categorize as embarrassing. A strangled sort of noise; something long built-up, catching in your throat and struggling out in a breathy whine. Your face flares up, you wanna disappear as Kai pulls away slightly. Softly, his breath hitches. Creaking open your eyes, you’re met with a sight that almost drags the sound out again.

Kai’s eyes, half-lidded and dark, bore down on you, haloed with pink, heated cheeks. His lips are kiss-bitten red and glossy. A wet dream come true. You tug him back to your lips, a new heat building in the kiss.

You aren’t sure who makes the first move, who bites first, but when his tongue pushes up against yours, you succumb fully to this new feeling filling you up. An unfamiliar greed beats in your chest, a rabid craving for more. More and more sounds mingle between both of you, unabashedly. With every sweet whine of Kai’s, the hunger grows. Your fingers tug at his hair, his press hard into your waist. Air is inconsistent and unnecessary.

“Kai-” Lips keep moving against yours. “More.”

“Can I-”His hands fumble around your waist a bit, mouth still keeping in time. “Your shirt.”

You begin nodding without even thinking about it. Finally, you break from each other. His hands hike your shirt up your chest before you peel the rest off. You move to do the same for him but he’s already ahead of you. His shirt comes up and over his head before being tossed alongside yours. The porcelain skin of his chest lays out before your eyes. Heart beat picking up, you trace each ridge and jut and mole back up to meet his gaze, one just as entranced as you are.

As your lips meet again, they move with much more care. Something deep and unspoken swimming on your lips and stirring up your chest. Fingers drift gently over freckles and goosebumps running up both your sides. Your back melts into the mattress; Huening’s intoxicating touch burning up your brain. His hands glide up and circle your chest softly. Brushing the sensitive, supple skin, more whimpers tumble out. Your hands copy his, nails dragging faintly down his soft stomach. His lips shudder against yours, breathing groans over your tongue. Knees sit on either side of your hips, keeping Kai’s body hovering precariously over you. The tantalizing promise of his weight above you draws your fingers lower. Just a fingertip dipping into the waistband of his sweatpants. The hitch in his breath is slight.

The kiss disconnects once again as you look at each other, drinking in the sight. His hair mused back wildly and eyes blown wide, a million emotions fly between you. Keeping your eyes locked, that curious hand of yours hesitantly slips from its place. Pulling out of Kai’s waistband, it snakes atop the fabric, coming to cup the prominent bulge beneath it. Your heart stutters at the heavy feeling of him in your hand. Kai’s eyes widen infinitesimally. Your curious fingers squeeze softly and you watch as the last bits of his composure crumble. Head dropping into your neck, his moan is guttural and desperate. His hips buck further into your palm and it becomes incredibly apparent just how big he is

“God-y/n, please…” The desperation with which he speaks your name, the whine and groan and guttural need pouring from his throat, finally breaks you.

For a moment, the only thought running through your head is how quickly you can get his sweatpants off. He seems to be thinking the same as his fingers pluck at your own waistband. However, as you’re about to give in, something stops you.

“Kai…” Embarrassment floods your face, “Do you…have a condom?”

His eyes widen, jaw dropping softly. A subtle red paints his cheeks as he slowly crawls off your body.

He awkwardly shuffles over to his bag on the floor before pulling out a small box of condoms. “I-I wasn’t, like, planning on using them. Or anything…Yeonjun-hyung put them in my bag…”

“Well, thank god for Yeonjun, I guess.”

Laughter eases the embarrassed tension as he rips open the packaging. Although he hesitates to take out the latex. You eye the clothes still covering both your bottom halves.

“I-I can…take mine off first. If you want?”

He matches your gaze, moving back towards the bed, “Are you-Do you want this? Like, 100%?”

“Yes.” Your head nods before you can even think about it, “Yeah, I-I do. Do you?”

“Yes.”

Leaning up, your lips meet his in a soft, sweet kiss. You slowly take his hand in yours and move it back down to your hip, to the bare skin beneath your waistband. Then, you tug your shorts down with his fingers. Finally, fully unclothed, you muscle through the timidity to open your eyes. The pure reverence in his face nearly calms your beating heart.

“Kai, please. Touch me.”

Huening makes quick work of his own bottoms. They pool at his ankles though your eyes are glued to the way his cock smacks against his stomach. He rolls the smooth latex down his skin and your eyes follow with a shiver. Even with little-to-no frame of reference, you’re all too aware that he’s big. Standing at the edge of the bed, towering over you, he is just as entranced with you as you are with him. Any room for embarrassment melts away into an unrelenting need.

You yank him back and his lips messily onto yours; tongues mingling and meshing. His fingers wisp up your bare thighs, sparking a lingering electricity. Your mouth lands on his neck with kisses and kitten licks. The breathy groan you pull from him with a soft bite sounds like heaven. Hands move further toward the inside of your thighs, brushing over your core. He fumbles for a moment before you reach to take his hand in yours. Awkwardly, you guide two slender fingers up to your clit, starting them in a circle motion. Your back arches into the feeling, head sinking into the pillows. Huening watches your reactions diligently, slowly gaining more confidence in his movements. The fingers slip away from the nub as one of them trails down to cautiously push into you. It takes a moment for the odd stretch to settle and melt into pleasure, but as your hips buck into his hand, Kai takes the hint. He uses his thumb to keep circling your clit while experimentally curling two fingers against your walls. This foreign pleasure is overwhelming and not enough.

“I-is this okay?”

Your voice feels stuck so you nod enthusiastically, eyes screwed tight. Fingernails dig into Kai’s scalp as you frantically pull him back to your lips. You work your tongue over his lips and onto his. Running your teeth down his jaw into the juncture of his neck, you litter the skin with soft bites. Lost in the pleasure, your movements feel crazed; desperate. That ever-looming climax is so close yet so far. You need it, like oxygen.

“Need more. Need you, please-please, Hyuka-”

Emptiness only fuels your desperation. Kai’s hips shift squarely over yours as his hand moves up between your bodies. His hard cock brushes your oversensitive thighs; the fog in your mind thickens. In the haze, you take Huening’s, now messy, hand into your mouth, licking over the fingers and tasting yourself on them. They tickle at the back of your throat, freeing a pleased hum.

Kai’s poor cock twitches against your leg and his chest stutters as you keep two lidded eyes on his. The fingers slip from your lips with a slight pop. His agape mouth falls onto yours, devouring your taste on your own tongue. That spit-slick hand guides his weeping tip down through your folds. It catches on your clit and teases your entrance. A gasp breaks your mouths apart. Kai’s fluttering breaths paint your cheeks.

“I-I’m gonna…can I…?”

“Hyuka, just fuck me. Please.”

“Oh-okay-uh, tell-tell me when to move.”

With a deep breath, his hips begin pushing into yours. The stretch sets in; a fire rippling between your legs. Like being ripped apart while still getting stitched back together. A contradicting pain, spreading slowly with Kai’s hesitation. He breathes sickly sweet whimpers into your ears and cradles your hands with his. They mingle in the sheets; an echo of heaven. It’s nearly enough to distract you from the pain as he bottoms out.

“F-fu-shit-ah…you-you’re so…” His forehead hits your shoulder, punctuated with fluttering kisses. “…amazing.”

Pain subsides steadily in a flurry of sensations. The excruciating stretch melting into numbing pleasure. Kai’s touch and affection; everything about him surrounding you everywhere. His heat pressed into your skin, his breath mixed with yours, your hearts beating in tandem as you join completely. You are full of him, of love for him, of need for him. Like you’ve pushed all the air out of your body to make more room for him. Every part of you yearns for everything he has to give.

“Kai-god-” You gasp out. “Y-you can move.”

Shakily, he draws his hips back. You feel every ridge and vein run along inside you. And when he pushes back in, your chests shudder in unison; moans and groans filling the hotel room. He continues slowly; falling into overwhelming pleasure. It muddles your thoughts and weighs down your tongue. And—when Kai’s sloppy thrusts settle into an eager, consistent pace—it numbs your mind in ecstasy.

The room devolves into heady grunts and sharp whines echoing in your ears. A mantra of his name builds—a plead, an oath, a prayer—spilling from your heart, coating your lips. Huening answers the call, swallowing your desperation with his own. You lose yourselves in each other. In the heat of your skin and lips meeting recklessly again and again. You need him closer, deeper; filling up your lungs and pumping through your veins. He wants more. Fingerprints and hickeys litter their way down your body at his discretion. His teeth sink in your shoulder, your nails scratch down his back. It’s instinctual and awkward, yet perfect.

The whirlwind in your stomach grows stronger, closer and closer to imploding. You felt yourself teetering, standing on the edge of an unfamiliar precipice. With his breath and pace picking up, it seemed Kai was right there as well. His hand detached from its bruising placement on your hip. Moving his thumb over your clit in deft circles, an extra jolt of pleasure arcs up your spine.

“K-kai, there-please, please, please.” His name tumbles out in whimpers, as does to yours from his lips.

“F-fuck-close-I’m-” A shudder runs through his body, his pace becoming sloppy and erratic. His finger keeps tight to your clit. Your lips clash as the bubble between you pops.

White explodes behind your eyelids. Mind-numbing pleasure fills your every limb. You’re floating on bliss like you’ve never experienced and everything else falls away. Except for Kai. He surrounds you, he fills your lungs and makes you whole. His weak whimpers and moans trail off in your ears like the sounds of heaven. His hips keep moving, stopping jerkily as pleasure seeps into overstimulation. Kai’s arms buckle trying to keep his full body weight off you. He rolls off of you, landing on his back.

Silence fills the air in the aftermath. You exchange heavy breaths, staring off at the ceiling. As the high slowly fades, so does the fog in your head. Realization settles sharp in your bones. Dread and elation stir in your stomach, brewing a dangerous cocktail of words.

“I like you.”

Huening sits up a little, “Huh?”

“I…god, I’m so sorry-” You pull yourself up and look back down at the man, turning the words over in your head until they spill out. “Kai, I really really like you…I have for the past 4 years! And I know this is probably a horrible time to be saying this, but I just…I don’t want this to ruin us or-or the group and I-”

“Y/n! Y/n…” He pulls your hands into his. A bright smile splits his cheeks, shining on your face. “I really like you too.”

Air collapses in your chest, soft and scared. “…R-really?”

His eyes shine and melt into raspberry cheeks with an eager nod. “I didn't mean for it to come out like this, but…”

“Maybe you should get tipsy more often.” Both of you spill over with giddy giggles. A brand new kind of ecstasy fills up your chest, beating in time with Kai’s heart.

“Maybe…”

Your heartbeat speeds, building with each passing second as you look at Huening. Sweet chocolate eyes you could drink in, overindulge, and just never stop. And they look right back at you with the same adoration that’s pumping through your veins.

“I’ll, uh, go get a towel so we can clean up.” Kai shifts off bed, disappearing into the bathroom to discard the condom. He returns with a warm towel, as promised, and begins to gently wipe up your thighs, staying cautious around your still-sensitive folds. The heat soothes some of the worse marks littering your skin, combined with Kai’s delicate kisses over them.

After he works his way up, he ends with your lips. You move in harmony, swapping sweet giggly pecks, fitting together like perfect puzzle pieces. The way his hands cradle your cheeks—all encompassing, trapping their heat—feels like home. Neither of you can contain the joy flooding your faces with huge smiles. They remain even as he pulls away.

“Can we still finish that movie?”

“Sure, hyuka.”

Peace fills the space between you. Love wrapping around and around, building and keeping you safe in its embrace. The world melts away leaving only this room, this moment, the breaths shared between you, the heat of your bare skin melding into his. Curling together beneath the sheets, you bask in it; this revelation of reciprocated love. For a moment, nothing exists beyond you and Kai among the Manhattan skyline.

#txt smut #txt x reader #txt imagines #huening kai x reader #huening kai smut #kpop smut #cw smut #hueningkai smut #hueningkai x reader #hueningkai imagines #hueningkai fanfic #txt fanfic #kpop fanfic #tomorrow x together #text — 🐱#hueningkai

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h0ttestgrlinm0urgu3 · 8 months

Text

your friend isn't always a genius

request

dom! aaron hotchner x brat reader

summary: Aaron's been on a case for to long reader decideds to be a brat but he gets home sooner than expected, turns out aaron got some advice from his friend.

warnings: use of y/n, masturbat!on fem, consensual voyeurism, being a brat, punishments, recording, daddy kink, mentions of spencer reid

it's been almost two weeks since aaron went on a case. it wasn't anything major, but with the towns police hindering the investigation due to a lack of knowledge and experience, he's had to stay longer than planned.

you know you can't blame aaron for being on a case, but having a break in routine always results in you bratting. so honestly, he shouldn't have expected less.

you currently sat on your knees infront of your full body mirror dressed in only a pair of pretty pink lace panties and one of aarons sleep shirts, taking pictures that you knew you'd get in trouble for. it didn't matter tho, you loved aarons punishments. you loved the way his hand felt when he spanked your ass or when you'd go brain dead from him fucking you so good. if you were being honest it was one of your favorite things.

sending the pictures to aaron you sit and wait for him to see it. it's around nine, and he's usually in the hotel by now unless they had a break in the case. you check and seeing that he read the text you pussy dampened and your heart speed up. waiting for a reply you sit there, and sit there, and sit. it's about 5 minutes when you decide to call him.

the phone ringing 3 times before he answers. 'hey sweetheart' he answers like he would normally. 'why didn't you answer my text?' you question, opting out of a greeting. 'because your not supposed to do that' he replys plainly. 'so? what you were just gonna ignore me?' you ask him letting your voice raise.

' I was' aaron says as if it's a normal thing.

' you never ignore me ' you say pouting as if he could see you. ' and you continue to be a brat. ya know spencer and I got the talkin and he said that if someone constantly has the same punishment every time they acted out, it'd become less effective.' he states, making you wonder what in their conversation made them talk about this and why he thought it pertained to you.

because it does.

'and? the fuck does that mean aaron?' you pout feeling the urge to really pass him off now. I mean if he was gonna change up punishments you can change up what your getting punished for.

'watch it' he warns urging you to not play this game. decideding he was beyond wrong and that you'd not only play this game, but win. you hung up the phone, removing your underwear you sat up the camera to where your pussy was on full display. hitting record, you let your fingers travel down your cheest, over your stomach past your clit collecting all of your juices on your fingers. bringing then back up to your clit you make eye contact with your camera as you start to play with your pussy.

moaning at the pleasure, you couldn't deny how good it felt, but you also couldn't deny how much it felt nothing like aaron. bringing your fingers down to your entrance, sliding them in as your eyes roll back and toes curl.

'oh fuck it feels so good' you moan out. you continue to fuck yourself on camera for about five minutes before you realize something. 'fuck I can't cum' you groan out. not knowing why but still wanting to win. so you crop the last bit of the video and send aaron the gold parts.

confused on why it's been five minutes of really good pleasure, and yet you haven't cum yet. you decided to get a toy, recording yourself play with it for a while before groaning and giving up at the same out come.

editing that video and again sending only the good parts you guessed that you must have became camera shy out of nowhere. so you play with your pussy while the camera isn't on. you try everything in the span of 6 hours, reaching for your phone at hour 3 to watch porn because maybe you need a little help.

which lead to realizing aaron once again left you on read.

you genuinely felt as though you could cry now. that's when the realization hits you. you've must of been so hardwired to aaron that it's impossible for you to cum without him now.

feeling angry, not necessarily at aaron, but at the fact that he probably knew you couldn't come without him, that's probably why he was okay with ignoring you.

getting cleaned in the bathroom before going back to the bedroom with a frown on your face, you let out a huff as you plopped on the bed.

☆

waking up the next morning, you check your phone. feeling your heart drop and crawl it's self back in place you read the one message from aaron. sent hours after you went to bed, about 1 a.m., telling you how they had a break in the case and caught the guy in the act. which means he'd be home anytime today.

that'd usually make you ecstatic, but with aarons newfound discovery of ignoring you only God knows what your punishment will be.

☆

you spend the day cleaning the apartment, cooking aaron his favorite meal, even going as far as making brownies. also thinking it was better to clean the whole apartment too just in case.

☆

almost perfectly on time, when you're taking the brownies out, aaron walks through the door. 'hey baby' he greets, walking over to hug you. "at least he's not that mad" you think to yourself. 'hi' you reply shyly, letting your head rest on his chest.

you've missed this, and if kinda makes you feel bad for being a brat. looking around the kitchen, aaron smiles fondly at the food you prepared. then picks you up whole he spins to look at the whole apartment, he knows it's because you didn't expect him home so soon after acting out, but he still loves it.

'enjoy the time you have sugar, cause after we eat your ass is done for' he smiles grabbing a handful of your ass and pecking your lips, before letting you down and making his way to the table.

let let out a groan, but honestly expecting that food and dessert wasn't gonna save you from your punishment.

☆

your weren't that hungry so you finished before aaron. as soon as the last piece was gone from his plate, you shot up to start cleaning the kitchen. 'Ah, that can wait baby' aaron tells you as he gets up from the table and motions for you to follow. 'what? noo, I got it' you answer starting to wash the dishes.

aaron walked behind you, an amused smile on his face. which goes away after he sees that your purposely washing slowly 'the longer you take on the dishes, the more time is added to your punishment' he says, making you drop the fork out of your hands. 'what? that's not fair'. you try to argue only for aaron to turn around and make his way to your shared room.

saying fuck it you decided not to do the dishes and follow him to the room. 'you done?' he asks 'fuck you, yes' you reply. making him laugh while he sat on the edge of the bed.

'get undressed baby' aaron commands you. decideding to choose your battles wisely and not have you outfit ripped apart, knowing aaron is not only good for buying clothes but destroying them, you undressed.

moving over, you sit in the center of the bed like he always tells you. waiting for him to say something you patently wait playing with your fingers.

he gets up from the edge of the bed and turns to you 'had fun without me?' your boyfriend asks you. 'not at all daddy, it was so boring' you answer back. ' so glad your back now' you add smiling up to him.

he lets out a loud laugh at your answer. 'seems to me you had all the fun in the world' aaron says. shacking your head no, while he shakes his head yes 'I know you did baby and it's okay.' he speaks as he makes his way to the chair in your room. 'how many times did you cum?' he ask while getting comfortable.

'don't ask me that daddy' you groan. he chuckles while un doing his tie. 'you don't want to tell me baby?' he questions. Shacking your head no he just smiles at you before speaking 'go ahead nd show me baby'.

confusion feels your body as aaron watches you from across the room. 'what?' you whispered, silently praying that you misheard him.

'baby I want you to play with your pussy while I watch' he admitted as if it was a mundane request. 'show me what you did while I was gone' he told you with a smirk.

shacking your head no, you desperatly thank of anything to get you out of this. 'that's so embarrassing daddy' you tell him as you pout.

your pussy is getting wetter by the second but you didnt know if you'd be able to cum. or even worse if you'd be allowed to.

before you could blink aaron got up and exited the room. you were confused to say the least and once he returned with a lighter that confusion only grew.

that was, until he went into your shared closet.

your jaw hit the floor as you see him walk out with one of your favorite pairs of heels. 'aaron what are yo-' 'shh baby' he cuts you off tossing your heels infront of the bed.

'they're just encouragement' he says as he reclaims his seat, lighter in hand 'but know that you'll be punished one way or another' he says plainly.

letting out a whine 'this isn't fair' you tell him wich in return earns you an eye roll. '10 minutes' he speaks. 'huh?' you question '10 minutes' he repeats.

'10 minutes to cum or you'll have 10 minutes to say goodbye to your shoes. you pick.' he clears up slightly shrugging his shoulders.

expecting your embarrassment you lay back down and prop your knees up. 'is that good?' you ask to which you get no reply. you drag two fingers through your slit and to your entrance. collecting your juices before letting them dip in.

you let out a moan, letting your body relax as you bring your finger out and back in. you cant lie about how good it feels, humiliation and all.

dragging your fingers out you bring them to circle your clit. you look at aaron and notice his intense gaze on your pussy in return you let out a whine and feel your pussy clamp around nothing.

you speed up your fingers and bring your other hand up to grope your breast. surprisingly to you, you can feel your orgasm building up.

adding more pressure to your clit to chase your orgasm it seems to finally click for aaron that your about to cum. to say you could see the disappointed on his face would be an understatement, "ill let her have this tho" , he thought to himself.

your shut your eyes as tight as they could as your feel the coil in your abdomen burst 'oh fuck daddy' you moan out as your orgasm washes through you.

breathing deeply as your legs twitched you finally opened your eyes to see your boyfriend on his phone. 'aaron what the fuck are you doing' you question as you see him typing away.

he barley spears you a glance before going back to typing and saying 'spencer said you wouldn't be able to cum on your own by now'

tag : @jxvipike

a/n☆ this is the 3rd version of this story bc tumblr deleted the other two 😺 not proof read, so mb for any mistakes😻😽 - daisy

#girlblogging #aaron hotchner x reader #black fanfic writer #x black fem reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #bau x reader #aaron hotchner x reader smut #aaron hotchner x you #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds smut #anon ask #bimbo reader #hottest girl in mourge #brat reader #bd/sm brat

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borbygorlinbbqworld · 4 months

Note

imagine your partner has an oral fixation so they latch onto your boobs whenever it is possible... one day when they're sucking on it, they get a sudden call from someone so they stop. suddenly your boobs feel heavy and you feel something trickling and voila! it's milk!

Per usual, your boyfriend was suckling on your huge breasts in bed.

It was your nighttime routine, one that had started shortly after you were dating. He had been pretty upfront with his preferences; his oral fixation and his complete obsession with big breasts hadn't bothered you one bit. Any opportunity that man could have your tits in his mouth and suck, he would.

For your part, it was quite enjoyable. Not only was the feeling arousing, but it also felt nice to feel like you were nurturing someone, to provide them comfort. You hadn't overly decided if you wanted kids until this man suckled your teats at every chance he could get. Especially when he was stressed, you knew pulling your breast out for him perked him up, and he would nuzzle against your chest and suck on your nipple until he felt better.

The changes to your boobs were also a surprising addition, though. When it had started, admittedly, you already had extremely large breasts. But after your boyfriend's comfort had become a habit, your tits didn't stand a chance in hell fitting into that 36G anymore. Last you measured, you would have been up to an M cup, but with how frequently he needed to suck on your breasts, buying another bra seemed silly when they just would not stop growing. Your shirt was an obstacle enough when he was getting into it.

Besides, recently, you had swollen beyond that M cup measurement anyway. Your breasts were massive expanses, with super sensitive nipples that perked up at the slightest breath against them. Hell, even the thought of him wanting them in his mouth got them to stiffen and make your breasts feel tight. Their weight had suddenly increased too, making walking or sitting up a labourous affair; then again, your boyfriend was often hypnotized when you'd move. Your massive mammaries would sway, your always-hard nipples poking this way and that through see-through shirts you always found yourself spiling out of.

As soon as you walked through the door, your nipples hardened as you saw the expression on your boyfriend's face change. His pupils dilated, like he had taken some sort of happy pill, though realistically you knew it was the mere sight of your breasts that did it for him. The poor guy literally had to wipe drool from his mouth; lately, the action had made your breasts feel super right, almost like they were full.

With a smirk, you walked across the room past him to the kitchen to drop off the groceries.

"Fuck... I can't believe how big they've gotten, babe." He came up behind you and cupped your nipples in his hands before hoisting your breasts up. You released an immediate sigh of relief; sometimes it was easy to forget how heavy they had gotten.

He bounced them up and down, sloshing your fat around, which only made your nipples harder.

"C-Can I...?"

It was honestly surprising it took him this long to ask. With a giggle, you pulled your tits out for him. He knelt down and suckled at your right breast as you continued to put groceries away.

His mouth sucked the entire areola hungrily as his tongue did a run against the nipple. He moaned at your breast, which only made them feel tighter and fuller than they already did. His saliva against your skin made you ache; it made you want nothing more than to fill him up with liquid warmth.

Snaking your hand through his hair, you pushed his face closer to your breast. He suckled deeper, getting a moan out of you. With a chuckle, he massaged your breast, his fingers working into blue veins you had noticed appeared last week.

But your ecstacy was short lived when his phone rang. With a growl, he pulled away and looked at it; the scowl on his face told you it was his boss, a call he simply couldn't ignore.

"I'll be back, okay babe? Keep them out." He clicked answer on his phone as he left the room. "Hey, what's up?"

Keep them out.

They were swollen from the sucking, and you doubted you'd be able to out them away any time soon anyway. Your glands felt sore, like they had no more room, or like they were... full.

You shifted uncomfortably as the feeling persisted; your boyfriend hadn't been gone that long, but the longer he left you, the more needy your breasts felt. You wanted nothing more than to be suckled on until you both fell asleep.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

What was that?

You had to take a step back to see two small puddles of white fluid on the counter. It looked and awful lot like--

"Milk?"

You turned to see your boyfriend, phone still at his ear, staring with his mouth agape. His eyes were transfixed to your apparently leaking mammaries. Throwing the phone over his shoulder, he nearly raced to your side. Drool dribbled down the corner of his mouth as he knelt down and grabbed your breasts in his hands.

The touch was gentle enough, but it must have played against a swollen gland, because a squirt of milk sprayed against his lips.

Though it was only a little, the express felt amazing, and you moaned in relief. You felt his hard cock rub against your leg.

"I'm gunna fucking drink you dry."

His hot breath against your breasts made you ache even more. You pulled his head close as he took your breast in his mouth and began suckling.

It was absolutely ecstacy. You filled him wkth milk, just as you knew he was going to fill you with his seed later.

---

🐮❤️

#lactation kink tw #massive breasts #smut #tw lactation kink #breast expansion #huge natural melons #huge cleavage #mommy milkers #writing #big tiddy committee #dirty pillows

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misspygmypie · 21 days

Text

Beyond Biology

Part of the "Meet & Greet... and more?" Universe Pairing: Lando Norris x Noah, Lando Norris x reader, Lando Norris x Baby Maebry Words: 1701 Request: I absolutely love the meet and greet series, can you please write one like Noah felt left out and thinks Lando is not going to love him anymore because he is not his (biological) but his sister is? With a happy ending please. Sorry for my bad English I'm from Argentina Masterlist

Please do not repost, thank you, and leave some feedback :)

Despite the loving environment in the Norris household there was an undercurrent of tension that Lando and Y/N had been trying to address. Over the past few weeks Noah had become increasingly withdrawn, refusing invitations to play with Lando and preferring to stay in his room over family activities. It wasn’t lost on Y/N that this change coincided with Maebry’s milestones like her first crawling and first mumbled words, moments that seemed to draw Lando’s attention.

One evening Y/N suggested it was time for the children’s bath. Lando, eager to contribute to the evening routine, volunteered to handle Maebry, knowing how much she enjoyed splashing around in the tub.

When Lando filled the bath with warm water and playful bath toys Noah wandered into the bathroom, hoping to join in. He had been excited to help with Maebry’s bath, thinking it might be a fun way to spend time with Lando.

However, when Noah entered the room, he saw Lando completely absorbed in the task of making his daughter giggle. The young man was making silly faces, floating bath toys in front of her and engaging in playful water splashes that elicited adorable squeals from the baby. Noah watched quietly from the doorway, his enthusiasm waning as he felt like an outsider to this moment.

When Noah slowly approached asking if he could help with anything, Lando just smiled. “Just a few more minutes, Noah. I’m almost done here with Maebry. How about you go pick out a bedtime story for us to read later?”

Noah, feeling disappointed, nodded silently and retreated to the living room. The attention Lando gave to Maebry during bath time seemed to highlight Noah’s sense of being left out.

One morning a few days later when they all gathered for breakfast Lando couldn’t help but notice Noah’s distant demeanor. The boy barely ate any of his cereal, his usual cheerfulness absent. Lando tried to engage him.

“Hey, Noah,” Lando said, slightly concerned, “How about we build something with the Legos later? Maybe a new spaceship or a cool castle?”

Noah shrugged, not meeting Lando’s eyes. “Maybe,” he mumbled, his tone flat.

Y/N, who had been quietly observing, decided it was time for a deeper conversation. After breakfast she took Noah by the hand and led him to a cozy corner of the living room where a soft blanket was draped over a bean bag. She sat down and patted the spot next to her.

“Noah, can we have a chat?” she asked softly.

Noah hesitated, looking slightly uneasy. “Okay,” he said, finally sitting beside his mother.

Y/N took a deep breath, her heart heavy with concern. “I’ve noticed you’ve been a bit quiet and distant lately. You haven’t been as excited to spend time with Lando or join in with the family activities. Is there something on your mind?”

Noah stared at his fidgeting fingers, his voice barely above a whisper. “I just… I feel like dad loves Maebry more than me. She’s his real daughter and I’m not. Maybe that’s why he’s been spending more time with her.”

Y/N’s heart sank at her son’s words. She took his hand in hers trying to be reassuring. “Noah, love isn’t about who’s biologically related to whom. It’s about the connection we build, the care we give and the moments we share together.”

Noah kept looking at the floor, the doubt still evident in his eyes. “But lately, it feels like dad has been so focused on Maebry, playing with her, taking care of her and I’ve been left out. I don’t know if he still wants to spend time with me.”

Y/N sighed, understanding the weight of Noah’s feelings. “Sometimes, when a new baby comes into the family, it’s easy to feel like the older child is left out. But that’s not because you’re loved any less. Dad’s attention on Maebry right now is because she needs a lot of care as a baby but that doesn’t mean he loves you any less.”

“So, you’re saying it’s just because Maebry is a baby?” Noah asked quietly, his eyes welling up with tears.

“Exactly,” Y/N nodded, brushing a tear from Noah’s cheek. “It’s not about how much love there is, it’s about how we balance our time and attention and sometimes we need to make an extra effort to show that love to everyone in different ways.”

“But what if Lando doesn’t really want to play with me anymore?” the boy asked, still a bit sad.

Y/N squeezed his hand gently. “Lando loves you deeply, Noah. Just because he has to care for Maebry doesn’t mean he’s forgotten about you. It’s important for us to talk about our feelings and not let misunderstandings grow. If you ever feel left out, you need to tell us. We want to make sure you always feel loved and included.”

Noah looked up, a flicker of hope in his eyes. “Do you think we could talk to dad about this?”

“Of course,” Y/N smiled softly, relieved that Noah was open to communicating. “It’s important that you share your thoughts with him.”

After sharing a long - and much needed - hug Y/N led Noah back out to the balcony where Lando was setting up a huge pile of Legos. Lando looked up, his face lighting up with a smile.

Noah still looked a bit unsure but Y/N gently nudged him forward. “Why don’t you talk to Dad for a moment before you start?”

Lando noticed the serious undertone in his wife’s voice. “What’s up, buddy?” he asked gently and guided Noah to the seating area while Y/N went back inside to entertain her daughter with a snack and a book.

Noah fidgeted with the hem of his shirt before speaking. “I was talking to Mom, and… I’m worried that maybe you don’t love me as much as Maebry because she’s your real daughter and I’m not.”

Lando’s heart ached hearing those words. For a second he wasn’t sure how to respond, he never thought Noah would even think of such a possibility. He gently placed a hand on Noah’s shoulder and looked into his eyes. “Noah, I want you to know something very important. Being a parent isn’t just about biology, it’s about how we love and care for each other.”

Noah nodded, his eyes still unsure.

Lando took a deep breath. “When I married your mom and adopted you I made a choice. I chose to be your dad. I chose to love you, protect you and be there for you and that choice is something I will never, ever regret. You mean the world to me, just like Maebry does.”

Noah’s eyes widened and he looked down at the floor, his emotions swirling. “But sometimes it feels like Maebry gets more attention.”

Lando placed a comforting hand on Noah’s back. “Maebry is younger and she needs a lot of care right now. But that doesn’t mean you’re any less important, it just means we have to balance our attention. I promise you, I love you and your sister both so very much and that love grows bigger every day.”

“Really?” Noah’s lip quivered and he looked up at his dad with a hopeful smile.

Lando smiled gently at the boy, trying to put as much love into it as possible. “Really.”

Noah’s worry began to fade as he listened to Lando’s words. He threw his arms around his dad in a tight hug, feeling the reassurance he so desperately needed.

“Thanks, Dad,” Noah whispered, his voice muffled against Lando’s shoulder.

Lando hugged him back, his heart swelling. “Anytime, buddy. Whenever you need to talk or if you’re ever unsure, remember that you’re my first child, Noah, and that means you hold a special place in my heart. Every moment we spend together is precious to me. I wouldn’t trade it for anything.”

A few days later Y/N was out with some of her girlfriends, leaving Lando in charge of bedtime for Noah and Maebry. Lando decided to make it special by setting up a cozy spot in the living room with pillows and blankets, preparing for an evening of storytelling.

He began by reading to Maebry, choosing a vibrant picture book full of colorful illustrations. Lando’s animated voice and playful expressions made Maebry giggle and reach for the pictures. Noah, holding his favorite bedtime story, watched from the edge of the blanket fort, feeling increasingly left out as Lando’s attention again was entirely on Maebry.

After finishing with Maebry, he gently lifted her from the blankets and placed her in her crib. He then turned to Noah with a warm smile. “How about we turn your favorite story into a special adventure tonight?”

Noah looked up, curiosity piqued. “What do you mean, Dad?”

Lando’s eyes twinkled with excitement. “We’ll use the blanket fort as our magic castle. I’ll be the storyteller and you’ll help me make the adventure come alive. What do you think?”

Noah’s face brightened, his sadness fading. “That sounds fun!”

Lando helped Noah into the blanket fort, arranging the pillows and turning on a small flashlight to create some extra magic. He began reading Noah’s favorite story about a brave knight and a dragon. He asked Noah to help with sound effects like the dragon’s roar and the knight’s sword clashing.

The longer they read, the more of Noah’s initial shyness melted away. He joined in, making the story come to life together with his dad. At the end of the story, Lando wrapped up with a triumphant finale where the knight saved the kingdom. He looked at Noah and said, “You were an amazing knight tonight.”

“Thanks, Dad. I had a lot of fun!” Noah smiled brightly at his father who pulled him into a tight hug.

“I love you, Noah and even though Maebry needs extra care right now, that doesn’t change how important you are to me. We’ll always have these special moments.”

With their special bedtime adventure complete, Lando helped Noah get tucked into bed, promising more adventures in the future and Noah drifted off to sleep feeling loved and cherished.

________

AN: First of all Anon, your English is amazing!!! Sending so much love to Argentina. I hope you like it and if not let me know and I can rewrite 😊🫶

Taglist: @eloriis @pacifierbby @landossainz @littlegrapejuice @barcelonaloverf1life @poppyflower-22 @itsjustfranzi @vickykazuya @sltwins

#lando imagine #lando norris imagine #f1 fanfic #f1 fic #lando angst #lando x noah #lando norris x reader #ln4 x reader #lando x reader #lando x maebry

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bzurk · 2 months

Text

what gets dirtier the more it cleans?

series masterlist:

tuesday, week two:

cw: dubcon turned noncon, frottage, noncon photography, overall terrible assholery

The weekend is a blessed reprieve. The morning sun streams through the window, casting a harsh light on the disarray of your thoughts. The world outside continues its indifferent rhythm, while your own has been irreversibly altered. The air is thick with a tension that has taken root in your mind, refusing to let go.

The memory of Simon's and Price’s touches linger, a ghostly presence that sends shivers down your spine. It all plays like a sinister symphony, the notes sharp and discordant, leaving you with a sense of unease that clings to your every move. You try to find solace in your morning routine, but every action feels mechanical, detached from any sense of normalcy.

With trembling hands, you clutch your mug of coffee, the warmth seeping into your palms offering little comfort. The room is filled with tense silence, the kind that settles after a storm, leaving a void where chaos once raged. You take a sip, the bitter liquid grounding you, anchoring you to the present even as your mind drifts back to that office, to the way Price’s eyes bore into you with a predatory intensity.

A cold dread coils in your stomach as you consider the days ahead. You need this job, the money it provides, the stability it promises in a world that seems to thrive on uncertainty. Yet, the thought of returning to that house, of facing Price - or worse, Simon - fills you with a visceral fear that paralyses you.

The world outside your window carries on with its mundane symphony: the distant hum of traffic, the occasional chirp of a bird, the rustling of leaves in a gentle breeze. Each sound is a reminder of life beyond your current turmoil, a life that feels increasingly out of reach.

You glance at your calendar, the dates marked with reminders of bills to pay, obligations to meet. It all seems so trivial now, overshadowed by the looming spectre of what awaits you at the mansion. You know you have to go back, the precarious balance of your finances dictating your choices with a merciless grip.

But the question remains - how can you face Price after what happened? How can you navigate this new, treacherous terrain where the lines between employer and predator blur into a disturbing shade of grey? How can you survive walking right into a wolf’s den?

The truth is, you don’t know. But you do know that you can’t let fear dictate your actions, can’t allow it to suffocate you.

With a deep breath, you set your mug aside and rise from the bed. The room feels suffocating, the walls pressing in with each passing moment. You need air, need to escape the claustrophobic confines of your thoughts. Grabbing your jacket, you step outside into the cool embrace of the morning.

The street is quiet, the usual hustle and bustle of city life muted in the early hour. You walk, the rhythmic cadence of your footsteps a soothing balm to your frayed nerves. As you make your way through the familiar streets, you allow yourself to imagine a life unburdened by the shadows of the past few days, a life beyond instant ramen and scraping by, exchanging favours to pay the bills.

But for now, all you can do is put one foot in front of the other, to navigate this uncertain path with as much grace and strength as you can muster. You can’t change what happened, but you can decide how you’ll face the days ahead, how you’ll protect yourself from the predators that lurk, preying on vulnerability.

—

You decide to take your mind off things, to indulge in a small act of defiance against the creeping dread that threatens to consume you. The idea flutters through your mind like a tantalizing whisper, a promise of something different, a break from the monotony of fear and uncertainty.

The idea is both daunting and liberating. You remind yourself of the money Price gave you, his silent expectation that you'd fulfil his request. In any other circumstance, you might have found the notion distasteful, but now it feels like a small rebellion.

Retail therapy.

As you wander through the bustling city streets, the noise and vibrancy of life around you serve as a temporary distraction, pulling you away from the darker recesses of your thoughts. But maybe, just maybe, a little indulgence could offer a brief escape. You find yourself drawn to the glass-fronted boutiques, their displays promising luxury and allure. The shop windows are filled with mannequins draped in delicate fabrics, the sheer elegance of lace and silk beckoning you with a promise of transformation, igniting a spark of defiance within you. You’ve spent so long prioritizing everyone else, putting your needs on hold, that the idea of buying something just for yourself feels like an act of rebellion.

The boutique door chimes softly as you enter, the sound mingling with the gentle music playing overhead. The store is a haven of soft lighting and rich colours, a world removed from your reality—a place where you can be someone else, even if only for a fleeting moment.

You weave through the racks, fingers grazing the smooth fabrics, eyes tracing the intricate patterns. There’s a sense of freedom in this act, a choice that is entirely yours to make. The world outside fades away, leaving you enveloped in the quiet intimacy of the store.

A part of you wonders if this was their intention all along - to mould you into a certain image, to see you comply with their whims, bribed and paid off until your dignity and sense of sense is gone. The thought sends a shiver down your spine, but you push it aside, focusing instead on the array of colours and fabrics before you. You run your fingers over the lace, feeling its intricate patterns under your fingertips.

Your hand pauses over a deep burgundy set.

The questions float through your mind, kicked up by an errant thought like dust under a boot - did they really need a maid, or was there another reason they hired you?

Was this all part of some twisted game to see how far you'd go, how much you could take?

Why you, specifically? You know that you're attractive, but there were so many other people they could have hired - people who were more qualified, more experienced.

In the back of your mind, you know they don’t need a maid. They’re men of discipline, of order and routine. All of their beds, minus one, are made in the morning with perfect corner tucks and nary a crease in sight.

You turn to the mirror, holding the set against your body. The rich hue of the fabric catches the light, casting flecks of red across your skin like an expensive wine spilled onto a pristine tablecloth. You meet your gaze in the mirror, and for a moment, you glimpse the girl you once were - the girl who dared to dream beyond her means, who believed that she could carve out her own path in this world.

The realization is both freeing and terrifying - you have a choice. You can let them break and shape you, mould you into a picture of compliance, but outside of that mansion, you’ll bounce back. As you look at the price tag of the lingerie set, you can't deny the dangerous allure of it.

They’re using you - but aren’t you doing the same?

You square your shoulders, determination setting into your jaw. You may not be able to control much right now, but you can control this.

Lost in thought, you barely notice the chime of the boutique door, but a familiar voice breaks through your reverie.

“Fancy seeing you here, little miss maid.”

You turn, startled, to find Kyle standing at the entrance of the store. His casual attire - jeans and a simple t-shirt - contrasts sharply with the opulent surroundings. He looks at you with a friendly smile, but there’s something in his eyes that makes you pause.

“Kyle!” you splutter, your heart pounding in your chest as you hastily tuck the lingerie set back into its hanger. “What are you doing here?”

“Just running some errands, thought it was you I saw around,” He takes a step closer, eyes raking over your form, then plucking the maroon set from the rack. “I never pegged you for the silk type.”

The air between you feels charged, crackling with unspoken words and hidden intentions. You know you should walk away, that this is some sort of trap or test, but you find yourself rooted to the spot, unable to tear your gaze away from his. He’s been nothing but sweet to you so far, it’s unfair to assume the worst of him.

You try your best to hold onto your earlier resolve and courage, but fuck, that cheeky smile is making it hard.

“I-I just...” you stammer, at a loss for words, mentally cursing yourself for sounding like a babbling idiot.

Kyle raises an eyebrow and his mouth quirks upwards in a knowing smirk, as if he can read your thoughts. “You know, you'd look gorgeous in this. A shame to let it go.” He doesn’t ask if you want it, instead slinging it over his arm and gesturing towards the racks and mannequins.

“Kyle, I can’t -”

He silences you with a wave of his hand and a wink, “Keep going. Surely didn’t come out just to buy one set?”

Your clothes wrinkle under your clammy palms as you fidget, fists rhythmically clenching and unclenching, and you can feel the blush coating your cheeks, eyes darting from Kyle’s open, smiling face and the lingerie. You’ve never shopped for anything like this before, let alone with a near-stranger for company. Your stomach feels like it’s collapsing in on itself, a stress ball under the hand of a vengeful god.

The tension in the air is palpable as you and Kyle stand in the boutique, his presence a mix of unexpected comfort and unease. You try to regain your composure, to wrestle control of the situation from the disorienting mix of his casual demeanour and the intimate setting.

“Kyle, I really shouldn’t-” You start, but his easy grin and confident stance make it clear he’s not going to let you off the hook so easily.

“Hey, no worries,” Kyle says, his tone light and reassuring. “If it makes you uncomfortable, just let me know. But if you’re here to treat yourself, why not go all out? It’s not every day you get to pamper yourself, right?”

His words, though well-intentioned, feel like a double-edged sword. The idea of indulging in something luxurious seems almost therapeutic, yet it’s hard to ignore the unsettling implications of his presence.

Kyle’s gaze is steady, and his smile, while friendly, seems to hold a hint of something more - an unspoken understanding or perhaps a curiosity about your choice.

You take a deep breath, attempting to steady your racing thoughts. “I guess... maybe you’re right. It’s just-” You pause, searching for the right words. “I don’t think I can afford it right now.”

Kyle’s smile doesn’t falter as you voice your concern. He looks at you with a mix of sympathy and understanding, his expression softening.

“Don’t worry about it,” he says, his tone reassuring. Before you can protest further, Kyle gently places the burgundy lingerie set back on the rack, his fingers brushing over the delicate fabric with casual ease. “Besides, a little looking never hurt anyone. There’s no harm in browsing a bit more, if you’re up for it. I really did just want to pop in to hello, though - I do have to run now, unfortunately.”

You nod, feeling a mix of gratitude and awkwardness. Kyle’s gesture is generous, but you’re also acutely aware of the boundaries you’re trying to maintain. The lingering unease you felt earlier doesn’t dissipate completely, but there’s something comforting about Kyle’s presence and his offer to help.

With a final wave and a warm smile, Kyle heads towards the store’s exit. “Well, I’ve got my errands to finish up. It was nice running into you. Hope the rest of your shopping goes well.”

You return his smile with a weak but sincere one, watching as he disappears through the boutique’s doors. As he leaves, the store’s soft lighting and luxurious fabrics seem to close in on you again, but now there’s a small, lingering sense of warmth from Kyle’s unexpected kindness.

You spend a few more moments in the store, skimming through the racks but finding yourself unable to fully engage with the experience.

As you leave the boutique, the cool air of the street feels like a welcome relief, a chance to clear your head. The city’s usual buzz seems distant now, replaced by a contemplative quiet.

You feel realigned, grounded, a train put back on its tracks.

You’ll go to work on Tuesday, get your paycheck, and buy yourself something nice - that pretty dark red set.

You find that you’re dreading the mansion less, with a clear and attainable goal in mind.

—

“See you next week.”

Tuesday arrives, dragging with it the weight of anticipation and dread. You’ve spent the day counting down the hours, each minute an excruciating reminder of the looming return to the mansion. As the day fades into evening, you find yourself standing before the imposing entrance once more, the same sense of foreboding settling over you like a shroud.

See you next week. See you next week. See you next week.

You take a deep breath, steeling yourself before pushing open the door. You’ve prepared for this. You know what you’re going into, at least. You’re going to stand your ground, get shit done, and leave. You’re going to make your money, pay your bills, and buy yourself a little treat, and after that, set bigger and better ambitions. They pay you well, even without the… bonuses. You’ll buy a new bedframe, hire a plumber for your leaky sink, maybe move into a nicer part of town with a few months of pay. You ignore the little voice in the back of your head that whispers only if you last that long.

The chime of the keypad cements the shift in you, from a scared, wary girl to a determined professional. But when the door finally slides open, revealing the empty garage, an overwhelming sense of relief washes over you. The space is devoid of any vehicles, a blank canvas untouched by the veterans who have come to define your recent existence.

The empty garage greets you like a sanctuary, a haven where the shadows of last Tuesday can't reach. The absence of Simon’s and Price’s cars feels like the lifting of a heavy weight from your shoulders.

You take a tentative step inside, and then another. Your heart rate slows, the pounding in your chest easing into a steady rhythm. The silence isn’t suffocating; instead, it’s liberating. The quiet is a balm, soothing the frayed edges of your nerves.

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, the exhalation carrying away some of the tension that had knotted your insides. The sight of the empty garage is a visual confirmation that you are blissfully alone, that there is no one lurking in the shadows, no predator waiting to pounce.

There’s a sense of elation bubbling up within you, a giddy feeling of triumph. You allow yourself a small, victorious smile, a rare moment of joy that breaks through the constant worry and fear that permeates the house.

For a moment, you linger there, savouring the victory of the empty garage. You take one final look around the empty space, etching the feeling of relief into your memory before steeling yourself for what lies ahead. You've come this far; you can make it through another shift.

With renewed determination, you step fully into the house, the click of your shoes echoing in the emptiness, a light skip in your step. The doors are still closed, their ominous silence hanging in the air like a tangible threat, and make your way down the dimly lit corridor, flipping light switches and opening windows as you go, each step fueling your determination to prove to yourself that this place won’t intimidate you anymore.

Inside the house, you efficiently tackle the chores that await you. Dust bunnies don't stand a chance against your furious feather duster, and cobwebs tremble in the face of your wrath. You clean like you've never cleaned before, and for a brief moment, you feel invincible, as if this grand mansion, this symbol of your servitude, is bowing to your will.

As you scrub away the stains and grime that have accumulated, you allow yourself to daydream about the future. The pretty red lingerie set is within reach, a reward for surviving another week at this twisted job. But your ambitions don't stop there. In your mind's eye, you see yourself buying a small but cozy apartment in a safer neighbourhood, with a view of the city skyline and freshly painted walls that smell of promise and new beginnings. The quiet hum of the vacuum becomes a soothing symphony as you move methodically through the rooms. You relish the freedom to hum to yourself, to let your thoughts wander without the need to look over your shoulder. The echo of your footsteps on the hardwood floors is no longer a reminder of your isolation but a testament to your presence, your moment of control in a house that felt so suffocating.

With renewed vigour, you finish mopping the floors and windexing every inch of the mansion's endless windows. The day is bright and sunny outside, and the warm light streaming through the windows fills you with a buoyant energy. A smile touches your lips as you glance outside, the backyard beckoning with its lush greenery and inviting pool. Today, the weather is on your side, a perfect excuse to tackle the outdoor areas with the same enthusiasm you've brought to the mansion's interior.

With your spirits lifted, you head to the back patio, the sliding glass doors gliding open with a soft whoosh. The fresh air is invigorating, a gentle breeze rustling the leaves of the manicured hedges that line the property. You take a moment to bask in the sun's embrace, letting it warm your skin and lift your mood further.

The back patio is a hidden gem of the mansion, a tranquil oasis with elegant wicker furniture and potted plants that sway gently in the breeze. The stone tiles beneath your feet are cool to the touch, the slate-grey colour complementing the natural beauty of the surroundings.

Armed with a broom and a bucket of soapy water, you set to work, sweeping away the fallen leaves and debris that have gathered on the tiles. The rhythmic motion is soothing, and you hum a cheerful tune as you move. The sun shines down, casting playful patterns of light and shadow across the patio, making the space feel alive and welcoming.

With the floor cleared, you turn your attention to the furniture, wiping down each piece with care. The wicker glistens under your touch, restored to its former glory. You fluff the cushions, adjusting them just so, and step back to admire your handiwork.

Next, you make your way to the pool area, its sparkling waters a vibrant blue under the clear sky. The sight of the pool, with its gentle ripples and inviting depths, fills you with a sense of ease. It's a far cry from the tense atmosphere inside the mansion - a place where you can breathe and appreciate the beauty around you.

You retrieve the pool skimmer and begin cleaning the water's surface, capturing stray leaves and insects. As you work, the sun glints off the water, creating a dazzling display of light that dances across the tiles. You take a moment to dip your fingers into the water, the coolness refreshing against your skin. It's a simple pleasure, but one that grounds you in the moment, reminding you that even in a place like this, there are moments of peace to be found-

“You must be lil’ miss maid!”

You gasp and shoot up straight, flicking up droplets of water, and the world moves in slow motion. You spin to face the intruder, shoe sliding with the help of a convenient puddle, before your vision tilts and a shill scream scratches your throat.

You don’t even feel the fall, not really; your brain is too busy sending alarm signals to your heart, which is hammering away like a mad thing. The sky blurs with the rushing of leaves and water, and then-

Cool water engulfs you, silencing your scream. It wraps around you like a cold blanket, pulling you into its depth. For a moment, all you see is blue, the sun's glimmer distorted through the water, like a dream turned nightmare.

You kick your legs and break the surface, gasping for air. Your hands reach for the pool's edge, gripping tightly as you blink away the water streaming down your face.

He stands there, a blur of a figure as you wipe your eyes, then clears into the sharp lines of a man you’ve never seen before. Tall and broad, with brown hair that catches the light, distinctly longer on top, and he wears a smirk that drips with casual arrogance. He’s dressed casually, in gym shorts and a tank with a white towel slung over his shoulder, but there's something about his stance, a confidence that suggests he’s no stranger here.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare ya.” His voice is teasing, an apology that doesn’t seem quite genuine.

You swallow the panic clawing at your throat and force yourself to focus, pulling yourself up and out of the pool. You feel the chill of the air bite into your wet clothes as you find your footing, the patio tiles suddenly feeling too solid beneath you.

“Who-” You clear your throat, the words stumbling out around a mouthful of water as you try to reclaim your composure. “Who are you?”

He laughs, an annoyingly pleasant sound, the kind that makes you feel like you’re the punchline to some private joke. “Name’s Soap,” he says, offering a hand as if you’re supposed to shake it like this is a normal meet-and-greet. “But you can call me whatever you like, bonnie maid.”

You glance at his hand, then back at him, your mind racing. The name rings a bell, a faint echo of the conversations you’ve overheard among the veterans. He must be one of them, the final occupant. You give your hand and your name shakily, the cold seeping into your bones. Your eyes trail a drop of sweat as it runs down his pointed nose.

“I-I didn’t know anyone else was here,” you manage, trying to keep the edge out of your voice as you stand there, dripping and bedraggled.

He shrugs, his hand not retreating despite the way you tug at it. His eyes scan the patio, taking in the sparkling clean furniture and the skimmer you’d dropped by the pool. “Looks like you’ve been busy.”

“Yeah,” you reply, a note of defensiveness creeping in. You wrap your free arm around yourself, both for warmth and comfort. “I just finished-”

“Won’t mind another dip, then?” He grins, all sharp teeth and gleaming blue eyes, releasing your hand on the next tug, and you stagger backwards again.

“Wait-!”

But before you can fully process what's happening, he lunges forward with a playful laugh, arms wide as if embracing the chaos he's about to create. In a flash, you’re airborne again, Soap’s strong arms wrapping around your middle as he tackles you back into the pool.

Water crashes over you, the shock of cold stealing your breath for the second time. For a split second, everything is surreal, suspended in the underwater silence. You kick up, breaking the surface with a gasp, spluttering and disoriented. Your hands find the pool's edge, gripping tightly as you blink away the water streaming down your face.

Soap is laughing, a boisterous, unrestrained sound that grates on your nerves. He surfaces beside you, shaking water from his short hair like a mischievous dog, eyes twinkling with unrepentant mirth.

“What the hell was that for?” you demand, voice rising with a mixture of anger and incredulity. Your heart is pounding, a furious drumbeat against your ribs.

“Oh, come on, bonnie,” he chuckles, paddling easily in the water. “Lighten up a bit. Figured you could use a refresher.” He winks, as if this entire situation is a grand joke, his amusement evident in every word.

You stare at him, your anger warring with the icy chill of the water. “You can’t just—just do that!”

He raises an eyebrow, still grinning. “Can’t I?”

The nerve of this man, this stranger who’s turned your moment of peace into a humiliating spectacle. You bite back a retort, knowing that getting into an argument with him would only escalate things further. Instead, you focus on pulling yourself out of the pool once more, muscles straining with the effort, heavy clothes weighing you down.

Once you’re out of the pool, you wring out your hair and clothes as best you can, the chill seeping into your bones, water pooling at your feet. Your clothes cling to your skin and you shiver, crossing your arms over your chest to preserve some semblance of warmth and dignity. The chill is biting, and you feel the goosebumps prickle across your skin as a breeze sweeps through the patio. Each drop that slides down your back feels like an insult, ruining the pristine environment you’d cleaned.

Soap emerges behind you, water streaming down his bare shoulders, and he runs a hand through his wet hair, flicking droplets everywhere.

"You're soaked," he observes with a cheeky grin, as if this wasn’t already painfully obvious.

You glare at him, your irritation bubbling over. “Really? Thanks for pointing that out,” you retort, teeth chattering as you speak.

“I’ll go fetch some towels, yeah?”

You glance over your shoulder at him, feeling a flash of irritation mixed with gratitude. “You can’t,” you protest, gesturing toward the open patio doors leading into the house. “I just cleaned the floors. You’ll track water everywhere.”

He shrugs, unconcerned, and gives you an easygoing smile that borders on infuriatingly charming. “No worries. I’ll clean it up later.”

You suppress the urge to roll your eyes, clutching your damp clothes tighter around yourself. “That’s not the point,” you grumble. “I-I don’t have a change of clothes, and I can’t leave like this!”

But Soap seems unbothered by your predicament. He steps around you, water streaming down his toned frame, and grabs the white gym towel he’d tossed aside before diving in. With a nonchalance that makes you bristle, he uses it to wipe the water from his hair, then casually tosses it onto a nearby chair.

“Eh, you’ll figure something out,” he says, seemingly unconcerned with your plight. He starts peeling off his wet clothes, leaving them in a soggy heap on the patio.

You avert your eyes quickly, cheeks flaming despite the cool air. “H-Hey! What are you doing?”

“Relax,” he chuckles, hanging the towel around his shoulders. “Can’t walk through the house drippin’ wet, can I?” He grins at you, a playful glint in his eye. “Problem solved.”

With that, he turns and saunters back inside, leaving you standing there in disbelief with a generous view of his backside, and oh my god he was commando-

Your cheeks burn hotter than the sun as you let out a mortified groan, wishing the ground would swallow you whole. You shake your head, a mixture of frustration and disbelief and heat boiling inside you. “Unbelievable,” you mutter under your breath, watching as he disappears into the mansion. Left to your own devices, you start to wring out your hair again, muttering curses at the audacity of the man who so easily disrupted your day. At least the sun is still shining, offering a bit of warmth as you stand there, dripping and annoyed and cold.

Soap strides back onto the patio, his demeanour relaxed and casual. He’s dressed in fresh clothes, looking every bit the picture of nonchalance despite the chaotic meeting.

He carries a couple of towels in his hands, their fluffy warmth a stark contrast to the damp chill clinging to your skin. “Here,” he holds out a towel toward you, his expression a mix of amusement and concern.

You take the towel gratefully, rubbing it over your hair and shoulders, trying to soak up as much of the moisture as you can. The warmth of the towel feels like a small comfort against the cold that’s settled into your bones.

“Thanks,” you mutter, focusing on the task of drying yourself off. But as you begin to dry off, Soap’s next words catch you off guard.

“How about you get out of those wet clothes? You’ll get sick if you stay in those.” His tone is casual, almost playful, but there's an underlying edge to his words that makes your stomach churn.

You look up from your towel, eyes widening slightly. “What? No, I-” You stammer, feeling a flush of heat rise to your cheeks. “I-I can’t just-”

He raises an eyebrow, his grin widening. “You can’t walk back through the house, you said so yourself. It’s not like I’m asking for anything weird.”

Despite his seemingly casual approach, there’s something unsettling in the way he’s looking at you. It’s not exactly threatening, but it’s an intrusion of your personal space and boundaries that makes you feel uncomfortable.

“Surely you have a- a side gate or something?” You squeak out as he continues to stare, his eyes trailing down your shivering shoulders and dripping hair.

“And then what?” Soap hums. “Make it to your car, get it all wet, chlorine in the seats and all. ‘Sides, you even have your keys on ya? You’re making it so complicated, lass. We have a clothes dryer, y’know.”

He nonchalantly gestures towards the house, as if he just solved all your problems. But you know this isn’t about dry clothes or wet seats. He’s pushing your boundaries, testing your limits, and you can’t stand it.

“I’ll just...” You trail off, not quite sure of your exit strategy. “You wouldn’t happen to have an- an old shirt or something I could at least borrow?”

Soap’s grin widens even more as he considers your request. For a moment, you think he might relent, but instead, he just shakes his head, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“Nah, not really. But look, you’re already wrapped in a towel,” he says, motioning toward your damp clothes. “Why don’t you just take those off and get comfy? Promise I’ll find you something to wear.”

His voice is still playful, yet there’s a firm undertone to it, leaving no room for debate. You feel your resolve waver, knowing that standing your ground might only prolong this awkward encounter.

“I really don’t think-” you begin, but he interrupts.

“C’mon, it’ll just take a sec. You don’t want to get sick, do you?” he insists, nodding toward the house.

There’s a moment of tense silence as you weigh your options. Finally, you exhale sharply, realizing you’re caught between a rock and a hard place. It’s either follow his lead or shiver outside until hypothermia kicks in.

Reluctantly, you nod. “Fine. But- Go inside. I’ll be there in a moment,” you agree, your voice a mix of defiance and resignation.

Soap nods approvingly and steps past the threshold back into the house, sliding the glass door closed behind him, and you watch warily as he steps behind the wall. And then wait until you’re sure he won’t turn around. As you hastily peel off your soaked clothes, you can’t help but feel exposed, your vulnerability hanging in the air.

You hurriedly wrap and clutch the towel tightly around your body, feeling its coarse fibres rub against your skin as you gather your courage to follow Soap back into the house. Your wet clothes are heavy and cumbersome as you try to hold up the towel and the bundle of wet fabric at the same time, and you make your way across the patio and into the mansion’s interior.

With a deep sigh, you push open the glass door and step inside, immediately feeling the warmth of the house envelop you like a comforting hug. But it does little to ease the tension in your chest as you follow Soap's lead towards the laundry room where he casually loads his clothes into the dryer, his movements quick and practised. You pass your clothes over for him to load in.

“There we go,” he says with a satisfied nod, his hands deftly turning the dial to start the cycle despite the way he left the door wide open. You watch him closely, your grip on the towel unyielding as he eyes the pile of clothes you’ve handed over. Your cheeks flush with a mix of embarrassment and irritation as he makes a show of placing each piece in one by one.

“Still got some stuff on, huh?” he teases, pointing out the obviously missing garments. “You’ll have to take those off too.”

Your eyes dart to the floor, heat flooding your cheeks. “I’m not-” you stammer, but Soap waves a hand dismissively.

“Gotta dry those too, you know. Don’t you worry,” he says with a playful smirk. “I’ll just step out and find you some dry clothes. You can handle starting the machine, right?”

You nod silently, clenching your teeth to hold back any further protest. With a final glance, Soap disappears down the hallway, leaving you alone in the laundry room. The moment he’s out of sight, you let out a shaky breath, feeling the weight of the situation settle over you like a cold fog. With a resigned sigh, you quickly rid yourself of your soaked underwear, tucking them into the dryer with the rest before rewrapping yourself. The towel becomes your sole armour against the world, its embrace both comforting and precarious.

As you start the cycle, the noise of the machine fills the room, a steady rhythm that matches the pounding of your heart. You stand there, alone and uncertain, wondering how you ended up in such an absurd situation.

You clutch the towel tighter around your body, the edges rough against your skin, as you stand in the dimly lit laundry room, the dryer humming softly beside you. It’s the only sound in the house, filling the silence with a steady, rhythmic pulse that matches the chaotic beat of your heart.

With Soap gone, the room feels cavernous, echoing with the lingering tension of his presence. You swallow hard, trying to push aside the knot of anxiety that has taken up residence in your chest.

“Hey, lass! Over here!” Soap’s voice calls out from one of the nearby bedrooms.

The warmth of the house seeps into your bones as you follow Soap’s call, tiptoeing down the hallway towards the bedroom where his voice beckoned. Your bare feet make no sound on the polished wooden floors, the air thick with the scent of lemon polish and fresh laundry.

When you reach the doorway, you pause, hesitating just outside the threshold. The room is spacious and well-appointed, with a king-sized bed draped in a quilted comforter and soft, ambient lighting that bathes everything in a golden afternoon glow. Kyle’s room. It feels intimate, and personal, standing there almost nude, and you can’t help but feel like an intruder in someone else’s space.

Soap gestures to a neatly arranged pile of clothes on the bed. “These should fit you. I’ll step outside while you change,” he says, and with that, he exits and closes the door behind him.

There’s an oversized, well-worn t-shirt sitting at the top of the pile, its fabric soft and familiar in a way that brings a sense of relief. But beneath it, your eyes catch on something that makes your breath hitch in your throat: a set of complex and expensive lingerie, delicate lace in rich, inviting hues that stand out starkly against the plainness of the shirt.

A slow, creeping sense of discomfort trickles down your spine as you take in the sight, your mind racing with questions. How did he get your size? Why is it your style, something you’d choose for yourself? And most importantly, why the fuck do Soap or Kyle have women’s lingerie?

The questions hang heavy in the air, demanding answers that you don’t have, leaving you standing there, feeling exposed and vulnerable. The room seems to close in around you, the walls drawing nearer, the atmosphere thickening with unspoken implications.

Your pulse quickens, and you take a step back, your grip on the towel tightening as though it might shield you from whatever game Soap is playing. It’s a cruel joke, you tell yourself, some twisted attempt to unsettle you, to test your boundaries.

You pick up the shirt and hold it to your chest, feeling a chill run down your spine. Before you can spiral any further into your thoughts, there’s a soft knock on the door, and you jump, your heart lurching in your chest.

Soap’s voice comes from the other side of the door, “You okay in there?”

You hesitate, your thoughts a chaotic whirl. Finally, you call back, your voice trembling slightly. “I’m fine. Just- just give me a minute.”

There’s no sound from the other side of the door. You exhale slowly, letting out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, and focus on the task at hand.

You push aside the lingerie, opting for the t-shirt instead. The fabric is soft against your skin, hanging loosely over your frame, its weight offering a semblance of normalcy in an otherwise surreal situation.

With the towel abandoned on the floor, you take a moment to collect yourself, smoothing down the shirt and tugging it into place before glancing at the door. The lingerie remains untouched.

You leave it there, on the bed, refusing to give it any more of your attention as you turn your back on it and make your way to the door.

You’re ready to face whatever comes next, your resolve firm, your mind made up. You may not know what Soap’s game is, but you’re not about to let him get the upper hand. Let them get the upper hand again.

As you step out into the hallway, you find Soap waiting, leaning against the wall with an easy smile, as if he hadn’t just tried to unsettle you, as if he hadn’t crossed a line you didn’t even know existed.

“There you are,” he says, straightening up as you approach. “Feeling better?”

You nod, keeping your expression neutral, not giving anything away. “Much. Thanks.”

You can’t stop the shiver that runs through you when his eyes immediately dart down to your chest, and a furious blush crosses your face.

“They not fit?” Soap hums curiously, crowding you closer to the doorframe. Your nipples are as obvious as day through the shirt, still pebbled from the chill. You hurry to cross your arms and cover yourself. “Kyle was so sure they were the size you picked up.”

“Kyle?” You squeak, stepping back into said man’s bedroom. You try not to panic when Soap closes the door behind him.

“Aye. He bought them just for you. Would be rude of you to turn down his gift,” Soap says, his tone dangerously smooth, a predator closing in on its prey.

Your mind races. Kyle Garrick, the man who had been so kind to you, so friendly, bought you lingerie? The thought twists your stomach. This place, these men - they were playing games with you.

A cold knot of dread tightens in your stomach as Soap leans back against the doorframe, his easy grin now holding an edge of challenge.

"Go on, then," he urges, nodding towards the bed where the lingerie lies like a trap, waiting to spring. "Try 'em on."

You hesitate, the air in the room feeling thin and oppressive. "I really don’t think-"

His expression darkens, and the playful tone is gone from his voice. "No’ asking, lass. It’s what you do when someone gives you a gift. Try it on, show some gratitude."

Your heart pounds in your chest, and your mind races, searching for a way out, a way to maintain some semblance of control. But the weight of his presence, the unyielding expectation in his gaze, leaves you feeling cornered.

With trembling hands, you pick up the lingerie, your fingers brushing against the delicate fabric. It’s a stark contrast to the rawness of the moment, and you swallow hard, forcing yourself to keep your breathing steady.

“Alright, alright,” you mutter, trying to project a calm you don’t feel. “Just… give me a minute.”

Soap smirks again, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’m waiting.”

You turn your back to him, your heart hammering in your chest as you begin to peel off the soft shirt. Each motion feels like a betrayal, your skin prickling with unease under his gaze. Bills, bills, bills. Loans. The cute red set. You can hear him suck air through his teeth when the fabric rises past your hips.

As you slip into the lingerie, you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. The sight is both surreal and unsettling, a stranger staring back at you with wide, uncertain eyes.

“I’m done,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper as you pull the oversized shirt over the lingerie. You hope it’s enough, that the shirt can shield you from the scrutiny, from the violation of this moment.

But Soap isn’t satisfied. His eyes glint with something dark and inscrutable as he steps forward, phone in hand, “Off with the shirt, then,” he says, a note of impatience threading through his words. “Got to show Kyle, lovie. He’d love to see you wearing what he got.”

Your heart leaps into your throat, but you don’t protest. Instead, with shaking hands and a pounding heart, you lift the shirt over your head, the cold air biting at your exposed skin. Goosebumps rise on your arms, and you cross them over your chest again, acutely aware of Soap’s eyes raking over you.

The lingerie feels alien against your skin, the fabric both soft and suffocating, as if it’s conspiring with the moment to strip you of your defences. The whole room feels smaller, closing in around you like a living, breathing entity watching the scene unfold with bated breath.

You’ve faced many things before, but none have felt as raw and unsettling as this moment, standing here, caught in Soap’s gaze. You feel like an actor in a scene you never agreed to, playing a role that twists your insides with shame and anger. With Simon, with Price, you were tugged along like a boat at sea, forced to float along the brutal currents they created. You were still an active participant, but you could place the blame elsewhere, direct your shame and hatred outwards because it wasn’t you, wasn’t your choice, you were just doing as you were told. But here, under Soap’s blue-grey stare, you felt alone, judged, isolated and cast under a spotlight. You could tug on the shirt, step past him, grab your keys and leave. But you don’t.

Soap steps closer, his eyes narrowing slightly as if appraising a work of art. But there’s nothing artistic about this - only a calculated manipulation, a display of power that turns your stomach.

He reaches out, and you flinch instinctively, your body recoiling from the touch that never comes. Instead, his hand lingers in the air, a silent threat that hangs between you, and then he nudges you gently but firmly backward.

He isn’t rough and uncaring like Simon, the big brute. He isn’t condescending and patronizing like Price, babying you into submission. He is not kind and friendly like Kyle, with his supportive touches and smiles. You know nothing about this man, and that scares you more than anything.

You stumble slightly as the backs of your knees hit the bed, and you sink onto it, the mattress yielding under your weight. Your heart races, your mind a whirlwind of fear and defiance, but you don’t look away, waiting for some sort of strike.

“Go on then,” Soap murmurs, his voice a low, taunting drawl. “Pose a bit, give Kyle something nice to look at.”

The suggestion hangs in the air like a noxious cloud, and you fight the bile rising in your throat. It’s an invasion, a violation that strips away your dignity, your autonomy, and all you want is to claw back some semblance of control.

But you can’t. Not here, not now, when everything is stacked against you. So instead, you hold your head high, meeting his gaze with a steely defiance that refuses to be dimmed.

“What if I don’t want to?” You say, your voice stronger than you feel, a spark of resistance that flares brightly against the encroaching darkness.

Soap’s smile widens, a predatory gleam in his eyes as if he relishes the challenge, the dance of power and defiance. “Then I’ll just have to convince you, won’t I?” He replies, his voice a low purr that makes your blood run cold.

He reaches out, his fingers grazing up your calves, sending a shiver down your spine. You clench your fists, nails digging into your palms, and bite back the retorts that threaten to escape.

“So pretty, bonnie,” he coos, dancing his fingers up your thighs until you let out a wavering sigh. He drops the phone against the duvet and reaches up to grasp your chin between warm, calloused fingers, forcing you to face him. You hate him. Hate him for reducing you to this quivering mess so easily when just ten minutes ago you thought you had some semblance of control.

Soap leans in, his breath warm against your skin, his lips a whisper away from yours. The room seems to hold its breath, the air thick with tension, as if the very walls are watching, waiting for your next move.

Your mind races, caught between the undeniable attraction and the anger that simmers just beneath the surface. Everything about him is wrong, every touch a violation of your autonomy, yet you can't deny the magnetic pull, the way his presence overwhelms your senses.

The kiss is electric, a storm of conflicting emotions that crash over you like a wave. It's demanding and rough, a collision of desire and defiance that leaves you breathless, your body betraying your mind as it responds to the heat of his touch.

His lips are firm against yours, moving with a confidence that borders on arrogance, a certainty that you'll bend to his will. And for a moment, just a fleeting heartbeat, you do, your resolve wavering under the intensity of the kiss.

But then the reality of the situation crashes down on you, a cold slap of clarity that pulls you back from the edge. You pull away, breaking the kiss with a gasp, your chest heaving as you struggle to catch your breath.

Soap watches you, a knowing smile playing on his lips, his eyes glinting with a mix of triumph and something darker, a shadow that lurks beneath the surface. He leans back slightly, giving you space but still crowding your senses, his presence as inescapable as the air around you.

"Smile for the camera, sweetheart," he says again, his voice soft but insistent, a command wrapped in a velvet glove.

You don’t have the time, nor the mental capacity, to react. You feel hot all over, confused, stunned. His lips had brought every simmering emotion to your mouth until it overflowed, out of control.

Your cheeks burned with humiliation and desire as you forced your stare to meet Soap’s again. There was a sick satisfaction in his eyes as he took in the tableau before him. It wasn’t hard to visualise how you must look - flushed from cheeks to chest, hands gripping at the sheets, covered in a sheen of sweat and goosebumps, topped off with spit-slick, kiss-swollen lips.

“Fuck,” he hissed under his breath, dropping the phone again in favour of running his hands over your ribs and waist before following the path with his lips. “Fucking perfect,” he trailed off, cutting himself off with a nip to the sensitive skin of your stomach. Despite your better judgment, his words made something in your stomach clench with both fear and anticipation. It was a feeling you weren't used to, this loss of control.

Soap’s hands and lips continued their exploration, mapping out every inch of skin they came across with an almost feverish intensity. Teeth grazed over your collarbone, causing goosebumps to erupt and spread like wildfire across your prickling skin. His hands cupped your breasts through the fabric of the bra, kneading them gently but with enough force to elicit a moan from your parched lips. You hated him for it - for making you feel like this, for making you want this, for stealing the illusion of control you worked so hard to maintain.

But as much as you hated it, as much as you tried to convince yourself it was just another means to an end, deep down there was a part of you that revelled in the attention. In the heat between your thighs that pooled and throbbed with each passing second; in the way his darkened gaze tracked your every move like prey.

He was quick and uncaring as he tugged down the bra, scooping your boobs from the cups and baring them to the warm air. In his other hand, he held his phone up high, capturing every moment of this humiliating performance.

“Stop- hah, enough, that’s enough,” you babbled nonsensically, writhing against the sheets as his left hand poked and prodded and twisted and toyed with your nipples.

His chuckle was low, dark, and it sent shivers down your spine. “Not even close, sweetheart,” he purred against your skin, his breath hot before he took a peak into his mouth. His right hand trailed down your stomach to the line of the panties. Your body protested every movement but betrayed you at every turn. The heat between your thighs seemed to have been lit on fire now, causing you to moan out in needy agony when his fingers brushed lightly over the damp fabric of your panties.

A low chuckle escaped his lips as he flicked a dextrous finger across your clit, control and lust entwined in the action.

Both hands had ventured southwards, now slipping between your thighs and dipping two fingers inside your slick core without any build-up or warning. Your entire body tensed at the intrusion, muscles clenching around him in surprise and desire. Heat pooled between your thighs and coiled in your stomach, a building inferno that threatened to consume you whole if he didn't stop.

“Fuck me, you’re soaked, bonnie,” he panted out from above, and you couldn’t bare to look at him, couldn’t bare to watch as you heard the rustle of fabric and his fingers returning to your cunt.

The feeling was almost too much to bear, and you bit down on your lower lip to stifle a moan as he thrust his fingers roughly inside you. Any other time, any other place, you would have told him off for being so rough, but now? Now was not the time for protests or modesty or anything else but the burning need that consumed you whole.

"So wet for me," he purred into your ear, his voice barely above a whisper but it still sent shivers down your spine. "Tell me you want it," he demanded, his fingers picking up in speed and intensity, absolutely relentless in their ministrations.

You shook your head, biting back a moan that threatened to escape your lips at any moment. You wouldn't give him the satisfaction of hearing those words come out of your mouth. You wouldn't do it. But Soap had other plans. With a swift movement, he crooked his fingers inside you, hitting that bundle of nerves that had been swelling with need since he first took his shirt off.

"Tell me you want it," he said again, this time with more emphasis, his voice gruff with desire.

"I-I," you panted, hips bucking upwards uncontrollably into his touch. "I want it," you managed to gasp out between shaky breaths.

That was all the invitation he needed, roughly pulling his fingers out of you. "That's what I thought," he growled low in your ear before pressing his bare hips against the gusset of your panties, and you whined. He was hard, so fucking hard, and your traitorous body throbbed in anticipation.

You perched on your elbows and craned your neck to look down, watching as he slid his wet hand against his cock. With every stroke of his hand, his cock would bump against your panties, further staining the damn fabric and torturously pressing against where you ached.

One hand on his cock, his other lifted the fabric of your panties, tugging it taut and slipping himself in against your skin, held snugly against your cunt by the damp fabric that was soaked through with arousal.

A moan escaped your lips as he began to move, rocking his hips against yours in a slow, sensual motion that had you clenching around nothing. His cock was blistering hot against your pussy, the shape of it visible beneath the wet fabric, velvety skin rubbing up against you. The air was thick with the scent of sex and sweat and arousal as he continued to grind against you, teasingly brushing his hardened cock against your swollen clit with every thrust.

It wasn't long before you were meeting him thrust for thrust, every movement of his hips answered with one of your own, eager for more. Greedy, needy moans spilled from your lips, uncaring of who could hear, uncaring about anything but the man above you and the way he was making your body sing.

"You like that, huh?" he taunted, leaning in to bite the shell of your earlobe gently. "You're dripping for me, baby," he growled against your skin before sucking harshly on your neck.

"Yes," you panted out, neck arched in pleasure as he teased your most sensitive spot. “Yes, yes, yes!”

You couldn't believe this was happening. You were at war with yourself, half of you screaming at you to stop, to push him away, while the other half wished he would just rip the damn fabric and plunge himself inside you, consequences be damned.

"Say it again," Soap panted against your ear, his pace picking up in speed as his grip on your hips tightened, rutting against you wildly. "Say you want me inside of you."

Waves of ice crashed over you, and you scrabbled to push against his chest futilely.

"No," you panted through clenched teeth, your orgasm barreling down on you like a freight train. "No, no, no."

The pleasure was blinding. Dizzying. All consuming. You couldn't make sense of anything else besides the want, the need, the cosmos colliding behind your clenched eyes.

And then pain, an ache deep in your gut, the sting of stretching skin, and oh fuck, it was like you were cumming again before the first wave had finished, the feelings compounding together in mindless pleasure-pain, colour colliding until they became white.

Your eyes burst open, the world spinning as Soap let out a guttural moan, your hands flying against his chest and pushing with all of your remaining strength. The pain remained even as the pleasure dulled, but it didn’t grow - Soap was holding himself over you, his hand a blur as it furiously strokes his cock, the tip lodged into your cunt, he was inside of you-

“Fuck!” You screeched, shrill, your fists bashing against his pecs, his shoulders, his arms, but it was already too late - his head rolled back with a loud, guttural groan, eyes rolling in their sockets. His hand slowed its frantic pace. Something deep in your gut burned, a searing heat.

As he pulls out, his cock brushes against your clit and you sob, involuntarily clenching up and digging your shaky knees into his sides.

“Look’it you,” he purred out, voice like gravel, completely unphased by the way you wailed your clenched fists against him.

Your panties were tugged to the side, baring your cunt to his glossy, wide stare. Mesmerised. A warm trickle of wetness slipped down your thigh, and you wanted to die on the spot.

“Fuckin’ so pretty, bonnie,” he breathes out in admiration, causing another wave of sobs to bubble up in your chest. “Guess we owe Kyle a new pair, don’t we, little maid?” You choke back another sob when you see the black case of his phone pointed towards you, capturing your visage. The glass covering the camera reflects your tear-stained face and dishevelled appearance.

He leans back, taking his arm with him, pointing his camera down, down, to where he leaks out of you.

The beep of the clothes dryer from the other room jolts you back to reality. Your body feels heavy, weighed down by the burden of what has happened, the sense of betrayal and humiliation gnawing at your insides. You watch Soap move away, casually strolling over to the laundry room as if nothing has happened, as if he hasn’t just shattered your world.

The room felt like it was closing in on you, the weight of what had just happened pressing down on your chest, making it hard to breathe. You curled in on yourself, wrapping your arms around your knees, trying to find some semblance of protection, of comfort in the aftermath of the violation.

His phone is thrown face-up against the sheets.

You catch a glimpse of the screen; a messaging app open, photos of you filling the display. Your breath hitches in your throat, a cold shiver running down your spine.

He sent the photos.

You almost sigh in relief when Kyle’s name pops up, followed by a message.

- wouldve been perfect if you werent in it johnny

A cold shiver runs down your spine. If it was a private chat between Soap and Kyle, why was his name above the message? Your eyes drift up, up, to the title of the chat.

‘the roomies’

The reality of the situation slams into you like a freight train, the full weight of it crashing down and stealing the air from your lungs.

You back away from the phone as if it were a venomous snake, your heart pounding in your chest like a caged animal. You can’t breathe, can’t think, your mind a maelstrom of fear and shame. The thought of their eyes on you, their laughter echoing in your ears, is too much to bear.

Soap saunters back into the room, holding your clothes with a broad grin. “‘ere you go, bonnie maid. All nice and toasty for ya.” He tosses them onto the bed beside you, his eyes gleaming with a sick satisfaction.

You force yourself to move, to reach for the clothes with trembling hands. The fabric feels alien against your skin, a reminder of the violation you can’t escape.

You don’t even notice, don’t care, that you haven’t changed out of the fancy underwear, that Johnny still leaks out of you when you make it home.

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aemondluvbot · 2 months

Text

𝖑𝖆𝖙𝖊 𝖓𝖎𝖌𝖍𝖙 𝖑𝖊𝖘𝖘𝖔𝖓𝖘

✧ ⸺ aemond x reader︱a “the dragon and the sparrow” blurb

𝔞. 𝔫𝔬𝔱𝔢: i have always genuinely adored the scenes in acotar where rhys teaches feyre how to read so this is very much inspired by that

𝔴𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰: allusions to smut but nothing on page for this one, innuendo, nudity, fluff apart from that

“aeg…aegon the con…conc…” you groan in frustration, the words dancing in front of you eyes—elusive and more difficult than they have any right to be.

“conqueror,” aemond corrects gently, brushing his knuckles up and down your bare shoulders as you sit between his legs, the giant tome in your hands. it’s much past your bedtime, the hour of the bat, and yet you’re determined… determined to show him that you can make progress, you can learn.

it’s been a challenging few weeks, but you want to show him you’re worth teaching, a good student.

“aegon the conqueror,” you repeat, a little more confident, “was the f-feerst…?”

“first,” the prince corrects you again, laughing softly when you huff and slam the book shut. “come on little sparrow, you can’t give up just yet.”

“i’ve been trying!” you whine. and it’s true, every spare minute you have between washing linens and mopping floors and boiling water for baths, you sneak in quick peeks at the loose pages aemond has been giving you. more often than not, it’s history lessons—targaryen history and stories from all seven kingdoms, histories of dragons and lands beyond the narrow sea.

anything and everything that’s challenging for you. anything and everything for you to learn how to read.

“i know you have been, my sweet,” the prince placates you a little, placing a kiss on your bare shoulder.

just hours ago you were tossing between the sheets, lost in the throes of ecstasy, and now here you are… frustrated beyond belief and still on the first page of this newest lesson.

“open the book,” he says. it’s an order, more like, one you shouldn’t refuse. still you grumble a little, making him chuckle again. “go on…”

you clear your throat, a little dramatic. “aegon the con…queror… the conqueror was the… first l-lord of the sev…en kingdoam…kingdoms,” you pause, breaking apart several times and repeating words until they feel familiar on your tongue. until the letters make a little more sense than before. “and king on… the irun—”

“iron.”

“iron th…throne.”

“very good,” aemond praises, turning your face to him so he can give you a kiss as reward.

this has been the routine for a few weeks now—he fucks you to within an inch of your life and then makes you sit between his legs, a book in your hands, making you read the words out loud to him. the kisses are your favourite reward, as much a treat for you as it is for him.

“this is so dull,” you whine again, in a difficult mood tonight.

aemond hums. “you think my ancestor, aegon the conqueror, is dull?”

you gasp, realising what just came out of your mouth in front of the prince when you feel a pinch on your hip, making you half-yelp half-giggle. his mouth hovers just above your ear, kissing the shell and the lobe and then your jaw.

“i think i agree with you,” he whispers, making you giggle a little more. “should we get a new book then?”

“mm-hmm,” you nod, “you told me once you had a book on vhagar for me. i’d like that one, my prince.”

wordlessly, aemond leaves the bed, taking the book in your hands away with him. you instantly miss the warmth of his body, of the feel of his skin against yours. but you can’t complain too much about it, not when he's right there in front of you, gloriously naked and searching for the book you requested.

“a lot of big words in this one,” aemond warns while you salivate over his backside. you have a sneaking suspicion he’s taking longer than necessary, standing right there for a few more moments just for your viewing pleasure.

“i’m quite good with big things, my prince,” you answer, rather coy.

“are you now?” aemond turns sideways, his little smirk now half-visible. “that mouth of yours will get you in trouble some day, little sparrow.”

it’s not a threat, not even close. and yet it sends a tendril of thrill down your spine and straight to your core. “i look forward to that day, my prince.”

his smirk turns into a smile, but the prince chooses not to answer, pulling the book down from a high shelf instead. once he’s back in bed you slot yourself back between his legs, comfortable and snug.

the book looks just as old as the others, leather-bound and its pages yellowing, but the illustration on the front page is all too familiar. for a moment you close your eyes and think of the wind rushing through your hair, think of the prince’s arms around you much like they are now.

“shall we begin?” he nudges and you nod, turning to the first page.

you begin much like before—struggling with the words and repeating them until they come a little more easily. aemond corrects much like before too, gently guiding you over the more difficult ones, praising with kisses and soft touches when you get them right. it’s only after the first page that you turn to him in curiosity.

“can i ask something, my prince?”

he hums, busy stroking his fingers through your hair, and you take that as a yes.

“how did you get her? vhagar… she’s centuries older than you and so much bigger. you can’t have had her as an egg in your cradle.”

“i didn’t,” he answers, closing his eyes perhaps to reminisce the day you’d asked about, stroking your head still. “i was just a boy, ten years of age… and she was riderless.”

“you were ten?” your voice drips with incredulity, not doubting him, never doubting him. when you close your eyes you can picture it so clearly—a small boy of ten, silver hair down to his shoulders, approaching a dragon hundreds of times his size.

“do you not believe me, little sparrow?” aemond teases.

“i’d never doubt you,” you respond. “what did you say to her?”

“i said, ‘dohaerās, vhagar! lykirī,’ and she let me climb her,” the prince explains, dramatising the familiar words you’d heard him speak in high valyrian just a few weeks ago.

“you told her to… to… serve, and… be calm?”

“look at you, little sparrow,” aemond swoops down, capturing your lips in his for a deep lingering kiss that has heat coiling in your belly again. rather possessively, you grab his face in your hands, deepening the kiss, relishing the feel of his mouth on yours until he’s the one to break it.

“you can learn high valyrian—” another small peck on your lips “—once you’ve mastered the common tongue. until then…” his arms loop around you again, putting the book back in your lap to the page it was on before, and tapping the page with his finger.

you intertwine your fingers with his, kissing the back of his hand. “if that’s what my prince commands…”

and then you begin all over again.

𝔱𝔞𝔤𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱: @uhnanix

#✧.* ⸺ valyria writes #aemond targaryen x y/n #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen #hotd #house of the dragon #house of the dragon smut #ewan mitchell x reader #ewan mitchell #smut #sparrow!reader

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ghcstao3 · 3 months

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(part 1 of black panther shifter!ghost)

Waking up in a holding cell after two years of freedom from captivity, Soap imagines, is surely disorienting as it is deeply upsetting.

Riley, since having returned to the land of the living, has done little other than pace and sleep, often refusing to eat, and, most notably, completely refusing to shift.

Unfortunately for the brass, this meant getting any sort of information—or, God forbid, getting Riley back into a condition to serve—would be a difficult, and likely time-consuming task. Not to mention extremely unpleasant for Riley, who is in a fragile state as is.

Because a forced shift is probable to cause permanent damage, psychological and/or otherwise, being that the panther, presumably, hasn't once shifted since his initial massacre. A forced shift would be added trauma to already copious amounts beyond it, and Soap could say with near certainty that such a kind of torture would not make any progress, nor encourage Riley to answer any questions.

So, they can do nothing but wait. They can all take their turns talking to him, attempting to coax Riley into a human state, but it's as much as they can do beyond running medical tests and praying for a change of heart.

The hope so far has been that maybe spending time among people will eventually help Riley push past the barriers of base instinct and come to a rational decision.

Soap visits him the most.

Still recovering from his injury, he'd been excused from the physically-demanding work that usually took up most of the time, so he often finds himself wandering to where Riley is being kept to fill those empty hours, though he's taken it upon himself to bring paperwork along to their... meetings.

For the most part Riley ignores him, keeping curled up in the farthest corner as Soap talks to him, talks about work, other things in a calm, low voice. Sometimes he'll still leave distance but peer at Soap from his position, his ears flicking from time to time almost in acknowledgement of something Soap mentions.

And sometimes, though very rarely, Riley will get as close as security measures would allow him and just... sit and listen. He'll make an array of vocalizations in response to anecdotes, and once or twice Soap swears the panther huffs and rolls his eyes like a petulant child if the captain ever so much as implies the suggestion of Riley shifting.

Then Soap begins bringing his journal, once he's slowly transitioning back to his regular duties and no longer needs the tedium of paperwork to keep him occupied—and whether it's a cause of re-conditioning or Riley's own intrigue, this seems to catch his attention, particularly once he realizes that Soap is drawing.

Truth be told, Soap has already been scribbling in entries and sketches of the shifter since he was freshly stitched-up and confined to a hospital bed. He hasn't learned much, of course, so the pictures far outnumber any conclusions—but Riley's an intriguing subject. And only in person does Soap figure he could ever remember the details of the shifter's scars interspersed in thick, black fur.

He's unsure if Riley would appreciate it, at first, but once he sees what Soap is up to, it's like a switch has flipped in his social behaviours. The first time Soap actually turns to show Riley his most recent sketch, an image of the panther stalking his prey as he had Soap all those weeks ago, Riley startles him with not-unkind chirps. A major improvement, if Soap had any say, from the usual snarls and grumbles.

They make progress again in such a fashion until they reach another halt, and nothing else has changed for a while, and Riley still doesn't do much but pace, sleep, sometimes eat, and never shift. Though, at the very least, anyone could now make the observation that his mental state has certainly improved.

By now, Soap and Riley have built up a routine. Soap will come by at the same time every day, Riley will—most days—give those panther non-answers of his, Soap will offer a sketch or two, and then he leaves, though not without imploring Riley to eat something, because he knows, beyond a doubt, that he won't have earlier. He's stopped asking for a shift, because he's come to understand that it will have to be entirely by Riley's terms.

Really, Soap has come to understand and learn a lot of things concerning the shifter, despite Riley's lack of conversational abilities.

The captain already knew, based on files alone, that Riley's behaviour did not stem from nothing—the exact opposite, in fact. He already knew that something happened to set him off, that was obvious to just about everyone, but it becomes so clear to Soap that Riley felt like he had no other choice, if he wasn't already overrun by the animalistic part of his brain by the time he made his escape. It was self-imposed isolation and doing what he thought was right, or ultimately be rejected from the society and organization that had abandoned him.

Then time went on, and he lost himself.

And Soap finds it so easy to empathize with that; with the losing of oneself; with digging that impossibly deep hole because it's self-containment or it's the harming of others.

It's a last-ditch ever to ask Riley just once more if he'd shift, once they hit that next, final, truly impenetrable wall. Riley merely stares at Soap a moment, soaking in the captain's own fatigue, before turning his back and going to lay down as far from Soap as possible.

He isn't prepared for the day Riley actually shifts.

No one notifies Soap of anything throughout the day, and nor is there any activity abuzz where Riley has been contained—so Soap can only assume he was meant to be the first to confront it.

It's... jarring, is what it is. Having adjusted so well to his expectations of seeing a black panther and not a human, it takes a moment for Soap to process the pale figure curled up against a wall, naked as the day he was born.

Despite the raw power and musculature of the panther, Riley looks so small. And so terribly, heartbreakingly young. His eyes, however, which appear when he hears the scuff of Soap's shoes against cool cement, look withered, haunted. Far more aged than he physically is.

"You've finally shifted," Soap remarks.

Gradually, Riley unfurls himself, all his scars still so stark on his skin. A large Y-shape is carved into his chest and down his stomach, the scar still pink and puckered and gnarled after at years of healing. The recognition of its nature is not at all a happy revelation.

Riley opens his mouth to speak, but a frown is quick to etch itself onto his face with the frustration of being unable to conjure any words. That is about the only thing that doesn't surprise Soap about this.

"Give it time," he assures. Soap lingers a moment longer on his assessment of Riley and that scar, before collecting himself and clearing his throat. "Let's get you some clothes, then, aye?"

Silently, Riley nods. That piercing, mismatched gaze is still somehow just as predatory and calculating as it is in his feline form.

There will be, beyond a doubt, a lot more work to do.

But for now, Soap heads off to fulfill his promise—and maybe let Price know what's happened on his way.

#near future happened to be a lot nearer than anticipated #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #soapghost #ghostsoap #ghost x soap #ghoap #alternate universe #writing

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bones4thecats · 16 days

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If it's not too much trouble, I would like to make a request for a Rengoku reader with Savanaclaw please.

Savanaclaw w/ a Kyojuro Rengoku! S/O

Characters: Leona Kingscholar, Ruggie Bucchi, and Jack Howl Requester: @marinahavik A/N: This is themed of when the Reader passes away from Akaza and the character's reactions to said death ⚠️ Spoilers/Trigger Warnings for: Death, mentions of fighting, Rengoku getting turned into a donut, and angst ⚠️

Disclaimer: The Reader may be slightly ooc for Rengoku. Just sayin'

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╚═════ Leona Kingscholar ════════════════════════╝

🦁 Leona laid with his back against the wall, he was getting more tired with the passing minutes... but he couldn't seem to get any kind of nap in for the past couple days

🦁 You were called back to your base by your Master just a week ago, and you sent him a crow telling him your mission would last at most three days, mainly for travel time

🦁 He was getting annoyed. It had been almost four days and he had heard nothing from you. What was wrong with you? Did you get injured or something and he never heard?

🦁 All of a sudden, the sound of three landing individuals made him open his one eye and look up. There stood two Demon Slayers and a Kakushi. The two slayers looked familiar, they looked like the way you described the Kamado-siblings you helped train

"You're Leona Kingscholar, yes?" The Kakushi asked.

"Yeah?"

"We're sorry to tell you this..."

🦁 Leona cocked an eyebrow, what were they talking about? His family had no relations to the Demon Slayers Corp, why would they be sorry about something?

"Your S/O, Y/N Rengoku, has... passed away..."

🦁 Oh...

╔══════════════════════════════════════════╗

╚═════ Ruggie Bucchi ═══════════════════════════╝

🍩 Ruggie liked your cheerfulness, it helped bring a sense of joy to his long and hard-worked days. You would normally assist him unless you were on a mission, much like today

🍩 He smiled the day you left. You sheathed your sword and looked back at your boyfriend

🍩 Ruggie stepped up to you, wrapping his arms around your midsection. You wrapped your arms around his neck so you could pull him close for a goodbye kiss

🍩 He pulled away and stood, his tail slightly swerving around while he laughs with a slight pitch. He just wished you luck and waved as you walked off back to the Demon Slayer Headquarters

🍩 The hyena-beastman was just finishing up a task the day you were supposed to come back, his joy beyond sky-bound as he thought of the many things you would do when returned

"Excuse me?"

🍩 Ruggie turned around to see a Kakushi, one of the many members of your estate, standing there waiting for his reply

"Whatcha need?"

"You're Ruggie Bucchi, right? Rengoku-sama's boyfriend?"

"...Yeah?"

🍩 The woman shuffled and sighed deeply, attempting to calm herself from crying, much to your boyfriend's confusion

"T-they... Y/N died..."

╔══════════════════════════════════════════╗

╚═════ Jack Howl ═════════════════════════════╝

🐺 Your energy and Jack's loyalty was quite the mixture of qualities in a relationship

🐺 Jack was very happy when you came back from missions, always ready to hold you and talk to you about whomever you defeated and how you did so

🐺 He was obsessed with you and your dedication to the Demon Slayer Corps, keeping everyone at risk safe from the evil demons made by Muzan Kibutsuji

🐺 Whenever you had to leave, you would come by and spend a night specifically with Jack and Jack alone before leaving and giving him a loving hug

🐺 This time, you told him it would be longer, maybe around a week at most. He just nodded and had the same routine with you, a night together before hugging you so you could get going

🐺 That morning, Jack jumped up from his rest. It was only sunrise, so he was surprised that someone was awake a couple minutes before his alarm would go off

🐺 Walking to his door and opening it, he saw the other first years there with a Kakushi and a tearing-up Yuu Sei

"What's going on?"

🐺 Yuu sniffled before hugging Jack tightly, arms binding him as he chocked on a breath before hugging back in confusion, asking yet again what happened

"Y/N-sensei..." Yuu chocked out, tears falling harder as they cried into his chest.

"Y/N-sensei's gone..."

#Twisted Wonderland #TWST #Savanaclaw #Twisted Wonderland x Reader #TWST x Reader #Savanaclaw x Reader #S/O! Reader #GN! Reader #Leona Kingscholar #Leona Kingscholar x Reader #Ruggie Bucchi #Ruggie Bucchi x Reader #Jack Howl #Jack Howl x Reader

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suashii · 11 months

Text

𝒮𝒫𝒪𝐼𝐿𝐸𝒟 — kuroo tetsuro x reader. 0.7 wc. sfw. fluff.

today was normal in every aspect. morning routines within the apartment went smoothly and you and your boyfriend had decent days out before returning home for the evening. the two of you cooked and ate dinner together, enjoying each other’s company for the first time in hours. and when you finished, kuroo, being the gentlemen he is, offered to clean up the table and take care of the dishes while you began washing up.

“have you seen my sleep shorts, tetsu? the blue ones,” you call out from the bedroom.

kuroo had been responsible for the laundry this week. he’s usually good about making sure he doesn’t leave any lone garments in the washer or dryer and he clearly recalls folding the specific pair of shorts you’re asking about. he must have put them away with his clothing by mistake.

“check my top drawer,” he yells over his shoulder, hoping his voice is loud enough to carry over the running water. he hums to himself as he rinses off the last dish, setting it on the drying rack. it’s only when kuroo is shaking the soapy water from his hands that he realizes his mindless blunder. he has been purposely trying to keep you out of his side of the dresser for the past few weeks so as to conceal a certain object.

“wait, don’t look in there!” water drips from the tips of his fingers as he rushes out of the kitchen and down the hall to stop you from finding what he’s been trying so hard to keep hidden.

though, when he finally reaches the doorway of your bedroom, you’re frozen. seems like he was a little too late.

“what’s this?” you inquire, clasping a small velvet box in your shaky hand. your eyes slowly drag away from the unexpected discovery and meet kuroo’s frantic ones.

“… a ring.” if his hands weren’t already covered in suds, kuroo is sure they’d be sweating beyond his control. you weren’t supposed to find that for at least a couple more weeks. scratch that—you weren’t supposed to find it at all.

“for me?” you question, your tone more steady and even than before.

“perhaps,” he answers.

“perhaps? don’t tell me i’m the side piece,” you try to joke. you know there’s no way kuroo would be unfaithful, but you’re having a hard time wrapping your head around the events playing out before your eyes.

“of course not. i just meant that i never got to ask before you found it.” he shrugs, finally stepping past the threshold of the doorway and into the room. “i didn’t know if you’d say yes.”

no matter how hard you try, you can’t think of a time when the air felt so tense between the two of you. knowing that you are partially to blame, albeit unintentionally, you clear your throat with the goal of resolving the mess that you created. “i know you weren’t planning on it, but you can do it now.”

“do what?” he asks, caving and wiping what was left of the foam from his hands onto his pants.

“propose, dummy.” you toss the box to kuroo, which he catches effortlessly. “that’s what the ring is for, right?”

“yeah…”

“then do it. i have my answer.”

a bright shade of red flushes across kuroo’s cheek as he considers your words. you’re right, he had no intention of proposing so soon, but now that the cat is out of the bag, it only makes sense to. even simply thinking of it is nerve-wracking, yet the thought of walking on eggshells around you until he builds up his courage sounds even worse. so, he buries the jitters ravaging his body before opening the box and kneeling down on one knee.

“will you—”

“yes!” your feet are moving on their own, launching you into kuroo’s chest. your body crashing into his sends him flying backward, his back hitting the carpeted floor with a thud. he doesn’t have time to focus on the discomfort of it all before you’re showering his cheeks and forehead in excited kisses.

“you didn’t even let me finish the question,” kuroo chuckles, pulling the ring from its case and sliding it onto your fourth finger.

“i already ruined your original plan, no harm in cutting the formalities short.” you hold your hand out to inspect the jewelry, a wide smile spreading across your face.

“i guess you’re right,” kuroo agrees, lovingly gazing at you.

“not to ruin the moment any further,” you start, fighting back a laugh, “but we really need to have a talk about your horrible hiding place.”

#₊˚ପ⊹ signed: haikyuu #kuroo x reader #haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #kuroo x you #haikyuu x you #kuroo drabble #haikyuu drabbles #kuroo fluff #haikyuu fluff

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musamora · 11 months

Text

— 𝖐𝖎𝖘𝖘 𝖒𝖞 𝖙𝖊𝖆𝖗𝖘 𝖆𝖜𝖆𝖞.

from anonymous: hello, can i request dazai and fyodor hc's for an insecure s/o?

pairing(s): osamu dazai & fyodor dostoevsky (bungou stray dogs) x f!reader

content warnings: body insecurity, depression, minor partner neglect, protective characters, mentioned nudity, implied/referenced sexual content, social anxiety, panic attacks. implied/referenced murder

author's note: it's good to be back ٩(•͈ ꇴ •͈)و ̑̑❀

summary: these two demons comfort their insecure and anxious partner.

would you like to see more? join the taglist or comment under this post!

These two intelligent masterminds are often preoccupied with plans and schemes, building the world up as the other breaks it apart. However, throughout all their similarities and differences, there is one weakness to their routine stoicism and impassivity.

And that weakness was you.

𝐎𝐒𝐀𝐌𝐔 𝐃𝐀𝐙𝐀𝐈 ✧･ﾟ: ━

It had been a long day of slaving over papers at your desk within the confines of the Armed Detective Agency. You had practically been slumped over, hands aching from writing thousands of signatures on the lines of recent accident reports, your wrist slowly dragging until the letters were unrecognizable as a name.

It felt like you had transformed into the worst version of yourself — exhausted, agitated, depressed. And to make matters even worse, you hadn't had an interaction with Dazai that surpassed a handful of pleasantries for days. He had been plagued with missions for the past week, leaving him out beyond regular twilight hours, with his only remaining time used to catch up on sleep. You didn't blame him, though you were surprised to see him so dedicated, but you couldn't help but miss the simpler times when you would silently cuddle and revel in the affection of one another, tangled in each other's arms as you wished to be nowhere else. And with the loneliness came the insecurities.

"Oh, my dearest honey-pie!" Dazai called from across the office; the rest of your co-workers are already accustomed to his high-energy hijinks. He had returned after another mission, though it was luckily a much easier case than the previous.

You sighed, your smile not quite reaching your eyes as you glanced up from the text you had read a thousand times over, turning to the man leaping over like a bunny. But he stopped mid-hop, sliding over with a blank expression as he seemed to inwardly glitch.

"Osamu? Is something wrong?" you mumbled the question through drowsy lips, eyes barely able to concentrate as you felt on the verge of passing out. His eyes narrowed, those beautiful chocolate-brown irises scanning your face with a hum.

"Let's head home early today," he suggested, his large hand pressing against your back, swallowing his frown as he massaged the tense muscles. "Sound good, dear?"

He could immediately tell that something was bothering you, already linking it to his recent absences — he won't admit that he was quite flattered. However, his beloved feeling insecure and unsure of herself is an immediate no-no. And knowing him, he'd address it through a varied expression of pouts and his stern but gentle reassurances.

A part of him cannot believe that you're insecure — not because he doesn't understand the concept, because he logically knows most people will feel insecure once in their life. It's just that, out of the two of you, he feels that he doesn't deserve you and has to constantly remind himself that you chose him. But because he understands your feelings, he is amazing at identifying the origins of any specific insecurities — and pray for the health of anyone who tries to add to them. He was proclaimed the Demon Prodigy for a reason.

Are you insecure about your body? In complete honesty, Dazai believes that the stars were taken from your leftover pieces — someone created so beautifully that they needed to remove parts of you in order to humanize you. You were always a benevolent goddess in his eyes.

So watch you glare at yourself in the reflection of the mirror, eyes raking your nude form with utter hatred and disgust as you thumb at stretchmarks and pull at flesh with eyes like blades, daring to sever them off your body, twisted his heart in sorrow. How could you not possibly see how ethereal you were?

In those moments, he wanted to walk into the room, replace your hands with his own adoring ones, and show you the way to appreciate your body as he did. To make you cry in pleasure as he forced you to look at your own lovely expressions, to melt.

But he knows that isn't always what you need — that it isn't always the best idea to point out your insecurities in such a way. So, instead, he waits. In the dead of night, when you are snuggled in your shared bed under the moonlight, his warm, large hands run underneath your pajamas, leaving sleepy kisses across your sensitive skin as soft giggles were drawn out from your lips as he painted your shoulders, neck, thighs — anywhere he could reach.

"Oh, my sweet darlin'. Your radiance knows no bounds."

Do you have insecurities in social situations? He understands the origins of your anxiety — your world can be incredibly overwhelming — and he is very sympathetic. Whenever you're out together, he watches like a hawk for any possible triggers, checking in occasionally to make sure you're comfortable and calm.

His immediate reaction whenever you've become overwhelmed is to lead you out and away from the situation. Once he has picked up on your tense breathing and nervous expression, he responds accordingly and guides you somewhere to calm down. However, especially with an occupation like yours, that isn't possible. If he isn't able to get you out of the situation, he'll try to be physically near you in some way, resting a hand on your shoulder or back, bracing you in case your knees buckle.

If you still end up having a panic attack, he responds with uncanny and seemingly atypical seriousness, either ushering you away or eliminating the source of your anxiety before drawing you into his arms, acting like a human, weighted blanket as he whispers sweet nothings into your ears, rocking you back-and-forth as he encourages you to match his breathing.

After these attacks, he'd be glued to your side even more than he normally is. Most believe he is simply being obnoxious, but he is always closely looking at your expression and body language, ensuring that you don't dip into another panic.

"It's okay, honey. I've got you. I'm not going anywhere."

And are you insecure about your relationship itself? If he was honest with himself, he would know the exact reason you'd have insecurities within your relationship. He was never known as the most committed, straightforward, or bluntly loving person towards anyone. He is a flirt and a fool, and at the beginning of the relationship, that never changed when you got together.

However, once he realized the way his behavior made you withdraw into yourself — the sorrow in your eyes when he'd leave in the middle of the night, the way you bit your tongue whenever he flirted with another woman — he finally stopped and took a look in the mirror. You were the best thing that could've ever happened to him, and the fact that his own actions were causing you pain broke his heart. So, for the second time in his life, he changed for a person — for the better.

He stopped flirting with women almost altogether unless a mission required it, focusing each of his cheesy one-liners and proposals to you. But his actions aren't always that obvious. It can be shown through the simple glances he makes towards you throughout the day, engaging you in silly conversations, or holding your hand with his non-dominant one as he pretends to fill out paperwork, mind focused on the patterned taps of phrases in your palm.

And he makes sure, whenever he sees you start to withdraw again, he goes out of his way to take care of you the same way you always lovingly took care of him. Whether that's through going out on a date, staying in to watch movies, or partaking in steamy activities is up to you.

"I've heard that a new restaurant opened up nearby, beautiful. Wanna go?"

𝐅𝐘𝐎𝐃𝐎𝐑 𝐃𝐎𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐄𝐕𝐒𝐊𝐘 ✧･ﾟ: ━

You hadn't seen Fyodor the entire week.

He had been far too busy planning his next scheme, crammed in his office at his organization's headquarters, far underground in a place that you couldn't locate — he refused to let you be involved in his plans or with the people under his command. So, instead, you had been stuck within your menial routine, waking up to an empty bed, going to work at your exhausting job, and returning to your barren home.

You dropped your stuff unceremoniously onto the coffee table, slumping onto the couch with a groan as your face smushed into the cushions. Not an inch of your body was able to be moved, only turning to cover yourself with a blanket after a couple of minutes, willing yourself not to cry, allowing the soft fabric to swallow you whole. You couldn't even turn on the television despite your hatred for the silence, finding the only shows or movies featured couples relishing their time together, blissfully ignorant to all struggle or strife.

You were becoming a shell of your former self with each passing moment, burrowing further into your body as any happy emotion turned to melancholy, only wanting to hear his voice again. The house was too big for you to remain in alone, and you wouldn't be surprised if the echoes of it creaking onto its foundation made you slowly go mad.

You barely stirred as the front door clicked open, a brief question of whether you locked it coming to mind, but you couldn't find the will to care. Someone circled the room before they approached your body, nimble hands nudging the blanket to get a view of your face.

"Good evening, моя милая," he whispered, breaking the empty air as he traced the tense creases of your eyes.

You melted into his affections, practically nuzzling into his hand, but even those touches didn't seem to be enough to appease your troubled mind. He would only leave, allowing you to wallow in your own anxiety for another week or longer. The black-haired man frowned at your less-than-enthused reaction, twirling the strands of your tangled locks with eyes that you hoped you weren't misconstruing as concern.

"I'll make us some tea, hm?"

Just like Dazai, Fyodor was immediately able to tell that something was wrong the moment he walked through the door. But unlike Dazai, he remains observant, not immediately jumping to comfort and cradle you without analyzing the origins and best possible solution to your current insecurities. And if the source of your insecurities came from someone in particular, he would be quick to eliminate them with uncharacteristic impatience and swiftness.

Because out of all the people on this planet, his perfect other half is not allowed to feel anything but uncontrollably adored.

To him, you are incandescent and divine, above everyone else. So, the fact you have insecurities based on such small, seemingly inconsequential flaws bewilders him. He can be harsh and blunt in his statements, but it's only because he sees you so highly. You are his equal in every way possible.

Are you insecure about your body? Fyodor has a fondness for beauty; it is no secret. He stares upon magnificent pieces of art and illustrative manuscripts of writing with fondness, but it never compares to the way he gazes upon your face. You are the most enchanting woman he has ever laid his eyes upon, even throughout his lengthy travels across the continent — and the notion that you think otherwise disturbs him.

You seem to be so utterly unaware of your own natural allure, too caught up in the smallest components of your appearance to understand that, as a whole, you were a masterpiece unrivaled by all. Too busy prying yourself apart, oblivious to the radiance that followed in your every step.

You are the all-encompassing vision of natural appeal and charm, a sight he partially wished could be replicated across the ends of the earth. But he understands the reason that is impossible. You were born to be swathed in adoration, intimately by him alone, even if he was too proud to admit it. He always became soft-hearted to your lovely smile, such a simplistic expression that stirred his heart in ways never before seen.

He would initially remedy these insecurities through his gifts to you, luxurious silks and soft velvets sewn into clothes that perfectly draped over your figure. Simple accessories that only complement your features.

And his touches would begin to linger, especially surrounding the parts of yourself that you are most insecure about. Sometimes, he waits until you're almost asleep, eyes hazy with lethargy, and he traces your beauty marks and freckles — anything that you perceive as a flaw, caressed with meticulous adoration and devotion.

"Прекрасный, любимая моя. Прекрасный."

Do you have social insecurities? Fyodor would study the roots of your social anxiety, watching every reaction you'd have towards people or noises when you two would be together in public, feeling the way you hold his arm tight like a vice, brows furrowed as you attempted to withhold your panic.

He knows certain elements of situations can be worrisome and cause your pretty mind to overthink, often fearful for the safety of yourself or others. Perhaps it was another trait that drew him towards you; such a human trait it is, that unwavering compassion. And he couldn't help but find it somewhat cute the way you clung onto him, though that's a hint of his pride talking. You are completely capable of defending and protecting yourself, but he doesn't think you should have to do it alone.

He responds to any panic accordingly, although not necessarily by straight-up calming you. With his intelligence and ability to pinpoint your fears, he can quell them with facts, although if he can tell logic won't work, he'll resort to calming you with discrete, simple whispers and light touches, leading you out of the situation as a final fallback.

However, if someone is threatening your safety, he can quickly take care of them through his wit (and a bit of his ability). The audacity someone has to even attempt to bring harm to your happiness and person makes his blood boil. But the fact that they're idiotic to mess with someone under his protection is almost laughable, and they'll soon learn the consequences of their transgressions.

"Don't worry about that scum, любимая. I'll take care of them."

And the basis of any of your insecurities surrounding your relationship itself, he realizes, to his utter dismay, is probably due to his air of outward coldness and apathy. You are his complementary match, understanding his exact thoughts from the smallest changes in his demeanor, drawing out the tiniest trickles of his affections from seemingly minuscule actions. But sometimes that isn't enough — understanding does not equal comprehension.

Certain assumptions through the lens of your own inadequacies, however tiny they may be, shift your view on position and importance in his life. And he will have absolutely none of that.

Fyodor is rarely so straightforward with his love, even in the moments when you are both completely alone — and that doesn't initially change much. However, he is ever-so-slightly more obvious — blunter with his words, letting his touches linger, scheduling his time with you.

And he purposefully leaves clues of his love in plain sight, inconspicuous letters left partially peeking out of drawers, Cyrillic letters drawn across the paper in intricate swoops, waiting for you to translate their true meaning. Of course, you'll have to work for it, but isn't the result all the more sweeter. He may be too prideful to admit it to your face, besides in the hours where you can barely comprehend thought, but he is and always will be completely enamored and devoted to you.

"Ты просматриваешь мои письма, любимая моя? Какой у тебя блестящий ум."

𝗥𝗨𝗦𝗦𝗜𝗔𝗡 𝗧𝗥𝗔𝗡𝗦𝗟𝗔𝗧𝗜𝗢𝗡 —

моя милая = my dear прекрасный, любимая моя. прекрасный. = beautiful, my darling. beautiful. любимая = darling ты просматриваешь мои письма, любимая моя? какой у тебя блестящий ум. = are you looking through my letters, my love? what a brilliant mind you have.

taglist: @imhandicapableofmath @seisitive @hauntedsol @ruru-kiss @ishqani @zyilas @lovesick-fairy @fedyascoffin @aquigglewigglewoo @kotysluny

#muse's anthology ‧₊˚ ⋅#f!reader #✉︎ ⎼ [anonymous] ‧₊˚#౨ৎ˚ ⎼ [afterhours]#bungo stray dogs #bungou stray dogs #bsd #bungo stray dogs x reader #bungou stray dogs x reader #bsd x reader #fyodor bsd #fyodor dostoevsky #fyodor x reader #fyodor dostoevsky x reader #osamu dazai x reader #dazai x reader #osamu dazai #dazai bsd

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